I  hit,  men" — the  mahogany  desk  was  a  cathedral  pulpit 
now — "don't  you  see  it?" 


The  Centenary 
At  Old  First 

BY 

HARVEY  REEVES  CALKINS 


THE  METHODIST  BOOK  CONCERN 
NEW  YORK  CINCINNATI 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
HARVEY  REEVES  CALKINS 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FAGS 

FOREWORD 9 

I.    WEDGWOOD 11 

II.    AT  THE  CITY  NATIONAL,  BANK 14 

III.  AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING 23 

IV.  THE  CHURCH  OF  YESTER-YEAR 37 

V.    STRAWS  LN  THE  CURRENT 44 

VI.    AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB 58 

VII.    MEXICAN  PETROLEUM 78 

VIII.    KHAKI  AND  CLOTH 82 

IX.    CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH 106 

X.     BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE 116 

XI.    THE  SHINERS 135 

XII.    THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT 152 

XIII.  CROSS  CURRENTS 173 

XIV.  BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES 191 

XV.     LETTERS 214 

XVI.    THE  BOARD  MEETS 223 

XVII.     THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH 240 

XVIII.    THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR 254 

XIX.    TIDINGS  FROM  SAINT  M  HIEL 267 

XX.    AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT 282 

XXI.    THE  OLD  PATHS 297 

XXII.    THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE 307 

XXIII.  VANISHING  CLEWS 318 

XXIV.  FLYNN'S  POINT 328 

XXV.    A  RAINY  DAY 336 

XXVI.  PIETRO  PROPHESIES.  .                                  .  345 


2134965 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"But,  men" — the  mahogany  desk  was  a  cathedral 
pulpit  now — "don't  you  see  it?" Frontispiece 

"0,  Miss  Janes,  what  have  I  done!" 158 

Then  something  came  to  Clara  Curtis 340 


FOREWORD 

If  there  shall  be  any  foreword,  let  it  be  the  word 
written  by  Addison  in  the  Spectator,  and  applied  by 
him  to  the  simple-hearted  squire,  Sir  Roger  de  Cover- 
ley: 

"He  brought  philosophy  out  of  closets  and  libraries 
to  dwell  at  tea  tables  and  in  coffee  houses." 

H.  R.  C. 
New  York  City,  Easter,  1919. 


CHAPTER  I 
WEDGWOOD 

MRS.  RHODIN  CURTIS— she  always  wrote  her 
name  full-bodied,  Clara  Heustis  Curtis — was 
learning  to  make  mental  adjustments.  Mrs.  Heustis, 
who  still  attended  prayer  meeting  at  Old  First,  said 
these  were  "temptations,"  but  Clara  had  quite  dis- 
carded the  well-worn  phrases  of  what  she  called  "the 
creeds." 

There  were  times  when  Mrs.  Rhodin  Curtis  deviated. 
Her  mother  told  her  it  was  "yielding  to  temptation," 
but  this  old-fashioned  statement  of  the  case  always 
brought  a  frown  to  her  daughter's  placid  brow,  a 
distinct  and  almost  ugly  frown. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  that  way,  mother" — it 
was  when  Clara  had  bought  the  second  set  of  Wedg- 
wood for  six  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars  and  Mrs. 
Heustis  had  spoken  plainly  of  extravagance — "it  irri- 
tates me  so  that  I  cannot  enter  into  the  silence." 

Then  something  stirred.  Mrs.  Heustis  was  much 
attached  to  her  son-in-law,  and  he  genuinely  returned 
her  affection.  He  had  been  telling  her  in  confidence 
some  of  his  financial  worries.  Rhodin  Curtis  seldom 
mentioned  business  perplexities  to  his  wife.  They  dis- 
turbed her  calm. 

Something  stirred.  "The  'silence*  of  which  you 
speak,  my  child,  may  some  day  feel  the  crash  of  an 

11 


12        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

earthquake,"  and  Mrs.  Heustis  looked  into  her  daugh- 
ter's face  with  the  prophetic  instinct  of  motherhood. 

"Why,  mother,  how  perfectly  morbid — as  though 
some  awful  chasm  were  about  to  yawn  underneath  me 
and  little  Arthur  and  my  strong  and  beautiful  Rho! 
If  you  would  only  fix  your  mind  on  the  pleasant  and 
lovely  things  you  would  find  that  the  unpleasant  things 
— what  church  people  still  call  evil — would  vanish  into 
unreality."  Clara  Curtis  spoke  winsomely,  for  she  was 
a  winsome  woman. 

Mrs.  Heustis  lifted  little  Arthur  into  her  lap,  where 
he  snuggled.  "Perhaps  your  mother  is  too  matter  of 
fact,  Clara;  but  I  do  not  believe  you  can  banish  evil 
out  of  the  world  by  thinking  it  away.  Can  the  Bel- 
gian and  Armenian  women  'think  away'  the  unutterable 
things  which  they  have  suffered?  I  wish  you  could 
have  heard  Dr.  Locke's  sermon  on  'The  Cost  of  World 
Peace.'  " 

"Now,  mother,  I  positively  refuse  to  talk  about  the 
Belgians  and  Armenians;  you  know  how  it  unnerves 
me!  ...  Arthur,  run  and  tell  Bergith  mother  says 
you  are  to  have  a  big,  big  orange.  You  may  eat  it  on 
the  veranda.  ...  I  hate  Dr.  Locke  and  his  old 
'Centenary  Sermons,'  and  I  think  it  is  unkind  of  you  to 
remind  me  of  such  horrid  things!"  and  Clara  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

Mrs.  Heustis  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  daughter's 
cheek — it  was  velvet  soft.  "My  dear  child,  forgive 
me  for  disturbing  the  dream-world  in  which  you  are 
living.  But,  Clara,  we  cannot  unthink  these  awful 
facts,  we  must  meet  them." 

Then  Clara  Curtis  lifted  her  head  and  looked  serene- 


WEDGWOOD  13 

ly  into  her  mother's  face.  "Do  not  be  tragic,  mother 
dear.  What  seems  to  you  so  evil  is  only  good  in  the 
making.  The  evil  is  but  illusion,  unreality;  it  will 
vanish  away  as  vapor.  Only  the  good  will  remain,  for 
good  alone  is  real.  It  must  be  so,  for  God  is  good, 
and,  mother,  God  is  all." 

Mrs.  Heustis  turned  slowly  from  her  daughter's 
tranquil  eyes.  Her  own  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears 
and  a  passionate  prayer  leaped  unbidden  to  her  lips: 
"Gently,  Lord,  O  gently  lead  her  in  the  day  of  her 
awakening." 

At  the  doorway  she  glanced  back  with  a  smile  and  a 
wave  of  the  hand.  "Good-by,  dear;  I'll  be  over  to- 
morrow." 

"Good-by,  mother." 

Clara  still  sat  with  lifted  head  and  with  serene  and 
tranquil  eyes,  with  deep  and  dreamful  eyes,  that  looked 
but  saw  not. 

Thus  Hypatia  looked,  lovely  near-Christian — looked 
and  saw  not — while  shadows  gathered  in  Alexandria 
the  city,  and  a  thunderbolt  fell  upon  the  house  of 
Theon — fifteen  centuries  ago — but  with  this  differ- 
ence: Clara's  mother  ceased  not  to  pray. 


CHAPTER  II 
AT  THE  CITY  NATIONAL  BANK 

"fTIHREE    MONTHS,    Mr.    Kennedy?     I    hardly 

A  can  do  that."  The  president  of  the  City  Na- 
tional Bank  looked  into  the  immobile  face  of 
Sanford  Kennedy,  managing  partner  of  King  and 
Kennedy,  Limited,  Wholesale  Chemists.  It  was  a  keen 
look,  but  friendly. 

"No,  Mr.  Kennedy,  a  ninety-day  note  is  quite  out  of 
the  question;  sixty  days  positively  is  our  limit.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  most  of  our  current  discounts  are  from 
ten  days  to  thirty." 

"But,  Mr.  Gilbert,  the  public  is  under  the  impression 
that  money  is  unusually  easy;  what  is  your  great 
urgency  ?" 

"To  keep  it  easy." 

"You  mean  by  short  loans  and  quick  returns?" 

"Certainly." 

"But  ordinary  business  must  find  such  urgency 
rather  trying." 

"Ordinary  business,  my  dear  sir,  must  yield  to  the 
one  business  now  in  hand." 

"The  war?" 

"To  be  sure.  Banks  just  now  have  only  one  purpose 
— to  enlist  public  and  private  resources  in  the  war 
program  of  the  American  government." 

"Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  ordinary  bank  loans  are  no 
longer  available?" 

14 


AT  THE  CITY  NATIONAL  BANK         15 

"We  do  not  mean  to  be  unreasonable,  Mr.  Kennedy, 
but  every  case  must  stand  on  its  own  merits.  For 
instance,  if  a  builder  or  contractor  is  in  the  midst  of  an 
enterprise  which  he  has  begun  in  good  faith  under 
financial  guarantees,  the  banks  of  this  city  will  con- 
tinue to  afford  all  reasonable  accommodation.  That  is 
only  fair.  But  the  building  trade  already  has  been 
notified  that  new  enterprises  will  receive  scant  consider- 
ation until  after  the  war." 

"But  what  if  ordinary  business  has  taken  on  some 
new  development  directly  related  to  the  war  situation  ?" 

"That  would  be  a  case  in  point,  Mr.  Kennedy.  In 
fact,  under  such  circumstances,  we  are  ready  to  stretch 
a  man's  credit  to  the  limit  and  make  almost  any  terms 
desired.  But  he  must  have  a  clear  case." 

"Well,  I  reckon  King  and  Kennedy  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty on  that  score,"  and  Sanford  Kennedy's  immobile 
face  relaxed  into  lines  that  had  been  laughter  once — 
in  the  days  before  business  had  atrophied  his  soul. 

James  Gilbert  swung  his  chair  face  front.  "I  shall 
be  very  glad  to  know  the  new  developments  of  your 
firm,"  he  said. 

"I  can  state  the  matter  in  few  words.  For  several 
years  we  have  been  carrying  a  heavy  stock  of  the  cya- 
nides— particularly  a  high  grade  of  potassium.  This 
compound,  as  you  may  be  aware,  forms  the  basis  of  the 
best  blue  and  green  dyes." 

"I  see." 

"When  the  British  blockade  began  to  tighten, 
American  interests  became  painfully  aware  that  we  had 
been  dependent  upon  Germany  for  most  of  our  dyes  as 
well  as  many  of  our  commercial  chemicals.  At  once 


16       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

we  began  systematic  experiments  at  our  laboratories." 

"I  see." 

"For  some  time  now  our  south  side  plant  has  been 
able  to  produce  Prussian  Blue  and  Berlin  Green  of  the 
very  highest  grade.  Recently  we  have  perfected  a 
*fast  black'  that  is  absolutely  satisfactory." 

"I  congratulate  you,  sir." 

"It  hardly  would  be  proper  for  me  to  speak  of  tech- 
nical trade  secrets,  but  this  much  further  I  can  say: 
We  have  been  in  correspondence  with  a  certain  Swiss 
firm  of  chemists  who  have  long  held  the  German  for- 
mula for  making  aniline  dyes  out  of  coal  tar  as  a  base, 
but  who  still  fear  a  German  boycott  if  they  actually 
should  manufacture  for  trade  export.  After  long 
negotiation  an  English  firm  has  now  secured  the  for- 
mula, and  King  and  Kennedy  will  represent  the  Ameri- 
can trade." 

"I  certainly  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Kennedy." 

"As  soon  as  we  were  sure  of  our  ground  we  communi- 
cated with  the  textile  trades,  and  literally  have  been 
snowed  under  with  orders  for  future  delivery.  There 
will  be  no  difficulty  in  securing  potassium  cyanide  in 
sufficient  amount  and  of  the  highest  quality;  extensive 
deposits  in  Utah  have  recently  been  developed.  Our 
aniline  dyes,  for  the  present,  will  be  sent  to  us  from 
England.  But  our  physical  equipment  is  wholly  in- 
sufficient. Plans  and  specifications  are  now  ready,  and 
we  purpose  to  build  extensive  new  laboratories;  hence 
my  request  for  accommodation.  Anything  less  than 
ninety  days  would  be  inconvenient  to  us." 

The  president  of  the  City  National  Bank  turned 
quietly  in  his  chair  and  lifted  the  receiver  from  his 


AT  THE  CITY  NATIONAL  BANK         17 

private  wire:  "Please  ask  Mr.  Curtis  to  see  me  di- 
rectly," and  then — 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  as  the  cashier  entered,  "Mr.  Ken- 
nedy's people  are  planning  extensive  additions  at  their 
south  side  laboratories;  please  afford  them  every  ac- 
commodation. This  comes  clearly  under  the  general 
banking  program  approved  by  the  Treasury  Depart- 
ment. You  are  familiar  with  it  all.  You  know  King 
and  Kennedy  securities  and  can  arrange  the  loan — that 
is,  if  Mr.  Kennedy  is  agreeable  to  this." 

"I  reckon  Rhody  and  I  can  make  terms" — quizzi- 
cally— "we've  done  it  before." 

Rhodin  Curtis  cast  a  quick,  inquiring  glance  at  the 
bank's  client  and  smiled  cordially.  "I  shall  be  at  your 
convenience,"  he  said. 

The  cashier  at  the  City  National  was  one  of  the 
bank's  strong  assets.  Genial,  commanding,  sympa- 
thetic, his  personal  popularity  drew  and  held  a  wide 
clientele  throughout  the  city.  "Fixing  it  with  Rhody" 
was  ordinary  business  parlance  for  negotiating  a  bank 
loan,  and  progressive  business  interests  more  and  more 
were  centered  at  the  City  National. 

Some  of  the  directors,  notably  Dr.  Janes,  criticized 
the  open-handed  way  in  which  the  cashier  extended  the 
bank's  credit,  especially  to  young  men,  some  of  them 
hardly  out  of  their  teens. 

"Think  of  it,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "three  hundred 
dollars  to  Tony  Carrari,  on  his  personal  note,  to  estab- 
lish a  string  of  shoe-shining  cabins  down  State  Street ; 
it's  absurd!" 

"And  every  dollar  paid,"  interrupted  the  president 


18        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

— it  was  at  a  bank  directors'  meeting — "and  Tony's 
deposits  already  more  than  four  hundred  a  month ! 
Dr.  Janes  will  have  to  choose  a  better  text  when  he 
criticizes  Mr.  Curtis." 

"Very  well,  I'll  say  nothing  more.  But  it  isn't  good 
business,  and  the  thing  will  end  in  a  crash  somewhere." 
Dr.  Janes  glowered  behind  his  glasses. 

But  the  thing  did  not  end.  On  the  contrary,  each 
semiannual  statement  showed  increasing  prosperity, 
and  the  directors  were  quite  content  with  the  bank's 
administration. 

"Curtis  may  be  a  bit  too  liberal,"  lawyer  Lasher  re- 
marked to  one  of  the  directors  at  a  club  dinner,  "but 
Gilbert  has  no  failings  in  that  quarter  and  will  draw 
the  check  rein  when  needed.  That  last  dividend,  you 
know,  wasn't  bad,  and  I'm  willing  to  stand  for  another 
just  like  it." 

And  so  thought  the  other  directors.  As  for  Dr. 
Janes,  he  was  as  good  as  his  word  and  said  nothing 
more. 

"I  shall  be  at  your  convenience,"  and  then,  "Is  this 
to  be  a  term  loan,  Mr.  Gilbert  ?"  The  question  was  one 
of  official  courtesy,  for  Rhodin  Curtis  spoke  as  a  man 
accustomed  to  plan  his  own  program. 

"Fix  it  as  you  please,  Mr.  Curtis ;  it  is  in  your  hands. 
Give  Mr.  Kennedy  anything  he  wants  and  make  what- 
ever time  extensions  you  may  desire.  The  bank  can 
afford  to  go  the  limit  in  this  business." 

The  cashier's  searching  and  masterful  glance  cov- 
ered both  men  for  a  moment.  "I  understand,"  he 
said.  Bowing  formally  he  withdrew. 


AT  THE  CITY  NATIONAL  BANK          19 

As  he  reached  the  door  of  the  president's  room  he 
turned  and  encountered  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Kennedy  fixed 
on  him  with  intent  earnestness.  If  the  older  man 
sighed,  it  was  an  unconscious  sigh,  for  both  men  smiled 
in  cordial  recognition.  The  younger  man  bowed  again 
and  passed  into  the  bank  with  quick,  elastic  steps. 

Sanford  Kennedy  drew  on  his  gloves.  The  lines 
in  his  face,  that  had  been  laughter  once,  deepened  into 
grim  furrows — like  trenches  on  the  Flanders  front. 
They  were  grim  but  very  human. 

James  Gilbert  was  smiling  broadly.  "I  declare, 
Kennedy,  you  are  the  limit!  'Ordinary  business!' 
Why,  man,  you  know  perfectly,  better  than  I  do,  that 
the  manufacture  of  dyes  is  a  high  necessity  thrust  on 
us  by  the  war,  and  therefore  entitled  to  prior  consider- 
ation in  any  banking  program.  You  were  trying  to 
'draw'  me!" 

Mr.  Gilbert  glowed  with  great  inward  comfort  as  he 
entered  a  memorandum  on  his  desk  pad. 

"Well,  Gilbert,  perhaps  I  had  a  little  notion  we 
might  do  business  this  morning,  but  I  like  to  move 
cautiously.  Everybody,  I  reckon,  has  an  idea  that 
his  own  particular  business  will  help  Uncle  Sam  whip 
the  Kaiser — especially  when  he  is  needing  a  bank  loan," 
with  a  shrewd  look  across  the  desk. 

"Right  you  are,  my  friend,"  and  the  president  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  glanced  at  a  card  which  the 
corridor  boy  that  moment  laid  on  his  desk:  "Tell  Dr. 
Locke  I  shall  be  at  liberty  in  a  few  minutes,  Luther." 

"Right  you  are!"  he  repeated.  "Why,  a  downstate 
commission  house  wanted  five  thousand  yesterday  to 
put  over  a  deal  in  frozen  eggs;  insisted  it  was  'war 


20        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

business' — by  which,  of  course,  they  meant  it  was  a 
chance  to  cut  a  comfortable  slice  of  war  profit!" 

"But  King  and  Kennedy  will  not  be  making  dyes  for 
the  sake  of  charity,  Mr.  Gilbert." 

"I  understand  perfectly,  and  you  are  entitled  to  a 
good  liberal  reward.  You  are  helping  to  break  down 
the  economic  strength  of  Germany.  You  are  develop- 
ing permanent  foundations  for  American  manufactures 
and,  at  the  same  time,  are  weakening  enemy  resources. 
If  you  were  in  England,  you  would  be  in  line  for  a 
knighthood.  As  it  is,  you  are  entitled  to  all  the  profit 
that  comes  your  way.  You  might  call  it,  as  I  call  our 
discounts  on  government  business,  'patriotic  by-prod- 
ucts.' But  frozen  eggs — bah!" 

"So  you  turned  the  downstate  commissioners  out 
of  doors,  I  suppose." 

"O,  no,  we  discounted  their  paper.  We  are  not  re- 
fusing good  business.  We  know  the  house — credit  as 
sound  as  the  income  tax.  But  the  manager  grew  warm 
when  I  held  him  down  to  twenty  days;  needed  thirty, 
he  said,  to  put  the  deal  across." 

"Perhaps  you  thought  the  City  National  might  make 
it  in  'two  jumps,'  eh,  Gilbert?" 

"Perhaps  so."  Mr.  Gilbert  smiled  again  and  lifted 
the  card  which  lay  in  front  of  him. 

"  'Two  jumps,'  that  reminds  me  of  Lasher's  sugges- 
tion yesterday.  Were  you  at  the  Club?" 

"No,  I  took  a  sandwich  and  cup  of  coffee  at  the 
laboratory — too  busy  these  days  for  club  lunches. 
What  is  Lasher's  latest?  We  ought  to  put  him  up  for 
mayor  on  a  'reform  and  economy'  platform." 

"And  he'd  make  good  too.     I  declare  Lasher  would 


AT  THE  CITY  NATIONAL  BANK         21 

cut  expenses  in  an  Eskimo  igloo!  We  need  such  men 
in  these  days  of  loose  spending." 

"But  loose  spending  means  tight  banking,  Gilbert." 

"I'm  not  saying  anything,  am  I  ?"  and  James  Gilbert 
balanced  the  card  on  the  tips  of  well-manicured  fingers. 

"What  was  Lasher's  suggestion?" 

"He  said  the  treasurer  ought  to  credit  one  half  our 
club  dues  to  the  Red  Cross,  in  lieu  of  subscriptions, 
and  postpone  the  new  clubhouse  until  after  the  war." 

"I'm  for  postponement  all  right." 

"And  I  like  Lasher's  suggestion  about  club  dues.  I 
tell  you,  Kennedy,  we  must  use  some  financial  judgment 
in  dealing  with  the  Red  Cross  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  or  busi- 
ness men  will  be  swamped!  Business  and  charity  have 
the  right  to  stand  on  a  war  footing  together.  What's 
more,  private  and  church  charities  may  as  well  call  a 
halt  until  after  peace  is  declared.  If  we  manage  to 
keep  up  ordinary  church  budgets,  we'll  do  mighty  well. 
But  there's  a  limit !  More  than  fifty  millions  picked  up 
in  that  last  Y.  M.  C.  A.  drive — I  tell  you  there's  a 
limit!" 

"My  notion  to  a  hair,  Gilbert.  I  told  Dr.  Locke  last 
Sunday  that  our  own  church  scheme  ought  to  wait 
until  after  the  public  mind  can  get  back  to  normal. 
But  I  saw  he  didn't  take  to  it  very  well — has  a  notion 
that  his  plan  of  tithe-paying  will  cover  the  whole  busi- 
ness !" 

"Tithe-paying !     He's  not  going  to  press  that !" 

"That's  his  plan — and  not  bad  either  if  times  were 
normal." 

"But  the  members  won't  stand  for  it,  Kennedy." 

""That's  what  I  told  him.     Money  is  plentiful,  but 


22       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

men  are  not  giving  it  away  without  a  good  stiff  reason. 
First  Church  Centenary,  no  doubt,  has  a  certain 
historic  interest,  but  you  won't  catch  fish  these  days 
with  pale  'anniversary'  bait — it's  got  to  be  blood  red! 
We  ought  to  call  the  whole  thing  off." 

"You're  right,  and  we  might  as  well  settle  the  busi- 
ness here  and  now.  I  'phoned  Dr.  Locke  yesterday 
that  it  would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  serve  as  treasur- 
er of  the  Fund,  and  he  said  he  would  be  at  the  bank  this 
morning  to  talk  things  over.  He  has  just  sent  in  his 
card.  You  sit  quiet  and  we'll  see  him  together." 

"Very  well,  Gilbert,  if  you  desire  it ;  I  reckon  the  rest 
of  the  Board  will  stand  for  what  we  say." 

Sanford  Kennedy  removed  his  gloves  and  settled 
back  into  his  chair.  The  lines  that  had  been  laughter 
were  deep  cut  creases  now — and  they  were  hard. 

James  Gilbert  pressed  a  call  button  at  the  side  of 
his  desk. 

"Show  Dr.  Locke  in,  Luther." 


CHAPTER  III 
AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING 

AS  a  boy  at  school  Richard  Locke  was  always 
"Dicky." 

His  first  week  at  college  fastened  "Dickens"  upon 
him,  and  college  instinct  approved.  McRae,  who  was 
Scotch,  pronounced  the  college  verdict:  "He's  not  so 
clever  but  he's  straight  human — and  'Dickens'  is  his 
name." 

That  was  the  reason  Old  First  had  chosen  him  as 
pastor.  "We  don't  want  a  sky-scraping  preacher," 
Sanford  Kennedy  had  insisted,  "but  a  man  who  can 
understand  folks ;  he'll  win — specially  if  he's  strong  in 
finance." 

And  so  it  was  that  Mr.  Kennedy  was  troubled  that 
morning  at  the  bank  when  he  saw  the  momentary  em- 
barrassment in  his  pastor's  face.  But  he  was  glad  that 
Richard  Locke  neither  lifted  his  eyebrows  nor  looked 
wise.  He  liked  him. 

"Two  against  one  isn't  fair  fighting — eh,  Dr. 
Locke?" 

"O,  there'll  be  no  fighting!  I'm  your  Dare-to-be-a 
Daniel  and  quite  wondering  how  it  will  seem  to  be  eaten. 
But,"  turning  to  the  banker,  "wouldn't  you  better  wait, 
Mr.  Gilbert,  until  the  rest  of  the  lions  get  here?"  The 
words  were  frank  and  the  humor  contagious. 

"No,  Dr.  Locke,  this  is  to  be  an  exclusive  meal  for 

23 


24        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Kennedy  and  myself,  served  comfortably  in  my  own 
private  den." 

"None  of  that,  Gilbert,  or  Daniel  will  turn  Samson 
and  leave  two  dead  lions  on  the  rug !" — and  then  to  his 
pastor  with  quick  courtesy,  "I'm  not  here  by  appoint- 
ment, Dr.  Locke ;  I  had  business  at  the  bank  this  morn- 
ing, and  Gilbert  suggested  that  I  stay  and  talk  things 
over  with  you  and  him — church  matters,  I  mean." 

"I'm  glad  you're  here,  both  of  you;  you  men  knew 
Old  First,  and  loved  her,  long  before  I  did ;  her  interests 
are  safe  in  your  hands."  The  pastor's  directness  was 
almost  disconcerting,  but  his  strong  fellowship  was  irre- 
sistible. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation.  The  banker, 
trained  to  promptness,  began  with  difficulty. 

"I  want  to  explain,  Dr.  Locke,  why  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  serve  as  treasurer  of  First  Church  Centenary 
Fund.  Perhaps  I  did  not  make  myself  clear  last  eve- 
ning over  the  'phone." 

"No,  Mr.  Gilbert,  I  found  myself  somewhat  puzzled; 
I  thought  that  matter  was  quite  settled." 

"And  so  it  was,  but  at  the  convention  of  American 
Bankers,  at  Atlantic  City,  Secretary  McAdoo  told  us 
plainly  that  the  government  would  not  be  able  to  float 
forthcoming  war  loans  unless  the  banks  entered  upon 
a  vigorous  campaign  of  preparation." 

"Yes,  I  read  of  it,  and  noted  the  splendid  response 
of  the  bankers." 

"Well,  we  didn't  wait  to  be  urged.  By  unanimous 
vote  we  pledged  for  government  use  all  our  profits,  all 
our  savings,  and  every  ounce  of  our  personal  influence 
and  official  resources." 


AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING       25 

"That  was  great  business !" 

"As  a  result  of  the  convention,  bankers  have  a  tacit 
understanding  among  themselves  that  they  will  dis- 
courage, as  far  as  possible,  private  enterprises  that 
require  new  capital.  Government  business  and  war 
work  are  to  have  the  right  of  way." 

"That's  the  patriotism  that  wins !" 

"So  we  think,  Dr.  Locke.  And  that's  the  reason,  as 
you  at  once  will  see,  why  bank  officers  feel,  under  the 
circumstances,  that  they  ought  not  to  become  officially 
related  to  any  charity — excepting,  of  course,  the  old 
established  societies  or  new  charities  directly  related 
to  the  war.  You  see,  the  raising  of  special  funds  is  part 
of  the  'new  business'  which  ought  to  be  discouraged. 
New  charity  plans,  like  new  business  plans,  must  give 
way." 

"Charity,  Mr.  Gilbert?  Just  what  has  that  to  do 
with  our  plans  at  Old  First?" 

The  banker  showed  that  he  was  somewhat  nettled, 
but  proceeded. 

"Of  course,  Dr.  Locke,  I  was  not  referring  to  ordi- 
nary church  budgets;  these  are  recognized  as  a  neces- 
sary part  of  community  life.  But  unusual  expendi- 
tures such  as  we  have  planned  at  First  Church — the 
creation  of  permanent  funds,  the  erection  of  new  build- 
ings, and  the  like,  these  clearly  are  not  related  to  the 
war  work  now  in  hand." 

"I  do  not  quite  get  you,  Mr.  Gilbert." 

"Now,  Gilbert" — Sanford  Kennedy  was  leaning 
across  the  desk — "there's  no  use  beating  about  the 
bush !  The  fact  is,  Dr.  Locke,  Gilbert  and  I  and  some 
of  the  other  members  of  the  Board  have  made  up  our 


26        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

minds  that  this  whole  celebration  at  First  Church  is 
out  of  place  and  ought  to  be  called  off." 

Richard  Locke's  mother  used  to  say  she  could  "read 
Dicky's  thoughts  by  watching  his  lips."  It  was  during 
their  senior  year  at  college  that  McRae  remarked, 
confidentially,  "Dickens  has  a  short  upper  lip — that's 
the  reason  he's  able  to  keep  it  stiff." 

If  the  minister's  lips  had  grown  a  shade  more  tense 
while  Mr.  Kennedy  was  speaking,  neither  of  his  friends 
noted  it.  The  banker  continued: 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  just  a  bit  unpatriotic,  Dr. 
Locke?" 

"Unpatriotic— Old  First!" 

"The  Centenary,  I  mean." 

"But,  Mr.  Gilbert,  it's  a  fact  that  First  Church  was 
founded  in  1819,  is  it  not?" 

"That  hardly  is  the  point." 

"I  rather  think  it  is  the  point.  My  arithmetic 
makes  1919  the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of  the 
founding,  and  June  of  next  year  the  month  of  the 
actual  Centenary  Celebration." 

"If  we  celebrate!"  broke  in  Mr.  Kennedy  senten- 
tiously. 

"  'If  we  celebrate' — I  confess,  gentlemen,  I  do  not 
quite  follow  you.  This  matter  has  been  planned  for 
more  than  two  years.  'The  Centenary  at  Old  First' 
has  become  a  church  slogan.  First  Church  families 
for  three  generations  back  have  been  traced  and  their 
descendants  in  various  parts  of  the  country  have  been 
notified.  In  fact,  I  need  hardly  remind  you,  my  invi- 
tation to  become  your  pastor  three  years  ago  was  based 
on  your  belief  that  I  could  help  you  organize  a  success- 


AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING       27 

ful  Centenary  celebration  as  part  of  your  new  program 
of  reconstruction — at  least  so  Mr.  Kennedy  informed 
me  when  he  brought  to  me  your  kind  invitation." 

"I'll  stand  by  that,  Dr.  Locke,  and  so  will  every 
member  of  the  Board.  It  was  a  good  day  for  First 
Church  when  you  became  our  pastor,  and  we're  back  of 
you" — Mr.  Kennedy  spoke  with  cordial  emphasis — "but 
don't  you  recognize  the  country  is  at  war! — and 
democracy  is  fighting  for  its  life !"  with  a  sudden  burst 
of  petulance. 

"That's  my  point  exactly !"  The  banker  again  was 
speaking.  "We  planned  our  Centenary  two  years  ago 
without  any  thought  of  present  developments,  but  no 
one,  I  assure  you,  would  make  such  plans  to-day.  I  do 
not  believe  that  anyone  would  question  our  pastor's 
patriotism,  but  some  have  wondered  why  he  should 
press  a  church  program  just  now,  when  everybody 
else  is  pressing  the  war." 

James  Gilbert's  incisive  words  completed  the  pastor's 
impeachment. 

•  ••••••• 

The  tragedy  of  war  is  the  confusion  of  ideals.  Dis- 
loyalty hath  slain  her  thousands,  but  blindness  her  tens 
of  thousands.  Richard  Locke  knew  this  and  kept  his 
poise.  If  the  minister  of  Old  First  had  been  of  stiff 
unbending  mold,  there  would  have  been  an  instant 
wrench  and  a  permanent  dislocation.  But  he  was  built 
of  drawn  steel.  He  could  take  a  jar  and  spring  back 
to  form. 


The  pastor  spoke  with  quietness. 


28        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Did  either  of  you  happen  to  read  the  President's 
recent  address  to  a  group  of  church  leaders  ?" 

"Not  I ;  perhaps  Gilbert  did ;  I've  been  too  busy." 

"No ;  war  news  and  the  market  are  my  limit." 

"I  suppose  it's  only  the  preacher  who  is  expected  to 
be  interested  in  church  business  and  general  business 
also."  The  words  came  with  perfect  good  humor,  but 
there  was  a  tinge  of  sadness  in  his  voice  which  he  could 
not  wholly  conceal. 

Sanford  Kennedy  caught  it  instantly  and  turned 
toward  the  banker. 

"I  declare,  Gilbert,  we  laymen  are  the  limit.  We 
invite  Dr.  Locke  to  take  expert  management  of  the 
church,  and  then  make  snap  judgment  on  church 
affairs  without  full  information.  We  prejudge  the 
pastor's  plans  and  then  invite  him  to  indorse  our  find- 
ings. Would  you  call  it  conceit  or  contrariness?  I 
reckon  it's  both — about  fifty-fifty!"  The  lines  in  Mr. 
Kennedy's  face  showed  sharp  with  vexation. 

"Shall  we  take  hands  off,  Kennedy?" 

"Never!"  The  word  leaped  from  the  pastor's  lips 
with  the  swiftness  of  thought. 

The  banker  regarded  him  quizzically.  "Why  not?" 
he  asked. 

"Because  an  Old  First  program  without  the  laymen 
would  be  'Hamlet'  with  Hamlet  left  out." 

"Then  Hamlet  will  have  to  express  his  opinions,  even 
if,  as  Kennedy  here  seems  to  think,  he  has  merely  a 
snap  judgment."  Mr.  Gilbert  was  plainly  irritated. 

Richard  Locke  had  discovered  during  his  first  year 
out  of  the  seminary  that  pettiness  is  never  cured,  nor 
irritation  allayed,  by  clever  and  forceful  argument. 


AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING       29 

He  remembered  it  now.  He  also  recognized  with 
chagrin  that  his  own  yearning  for  spiritual  fellowship 
inadvertently  had  caused  this  crossing  of  the  currents. 
But  the  largeness  of  his  leadership  became  apparent 
when,  without  noticing  the  cross  currents,  he  quietly 
dropped  his  plummet  into  the  undisturbed  depths  of 
human  faith. 

"Mr.  Wilson  was  asked  recently  by  a  group  of  min- 
isters how  best  the  churches  could  support  the  govern- 
ment during  the  war.  The  President's  reply  was 
prophetic  and" — the  pastor  spoke  with  a  man's  frank- 
ness— "it  contains  the  whole  of  my  sermon — text, 
treatment,  and  exhortation." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Gilbert  with  returning 
good  humor. 

"This — 'Make  your  own  churches  efficient;  the 
country  and  the  world  will  have  need  of  them  as  never 
before.'  " 

Richard  Locke  did  not  wait  for  word  or  comment. 
"Men" — his  directness  was  startling — "what  is  an 
efficient  church? 

"I  myself  have  been  called  an  'efficiency  expert,'  "  he 
continued,  "yet  what  is  meant  by  it  is  a  puzzle  beyond 
my  comprehension.  I'm  sick  of  this  whole  'efficiency' 
business  in  the  church  if  all  it  signifies  is  an  up-to-date 
filing  system,  a  well-balanced  organization  and  prompt 
attention  to  monthly  bills!" 

Richard  Locke  unconsciously  had  risen  to  his  feet. 
It  was  the  preacher  instinct ;  he  was  casting  a  line  and 
must  stand  to  it. 

"What  is  an  efficient  church?"  he  repeated.  "An 
efficient  bank,  I  suppose,  is  one  that  effectively  uses  its 


30       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

resources  so  as  to  meet  the  intelligent  demands  of  busi- 
ness. An  efficient  government  is  able  to  organize  and 
employ  the  agencies  under  its  control  so  as  to  bring 
about  the  largest  degree  of  national  prosperity.  And 
an  efficient  church — is  it  not  a  church  that  realizes  the 
infinite  reach  of  its  resources  and  brings  those  re- 
sources into  strong  and  living  contact  with  human 
need?  If  the  church  in  our  generation  had  been  effi- 
cient, would  Christendom  now  be  weltering  in  blood?" 

The  pastor  reached  his  hands  toward  the  two  men 
as  to  a  hushed  and  expectant  congregation. 

"I  tell  you,  men,  this  war  was  bound  to  come.  It 
was  inevitable.  And  victory  never  will  come,  whatever 
be  the  military  triumphs,  until  Christianity  itself  is 
made  efficient.  The  churches  must  rise  to  exalted 
leadership,  or  democracy  will  lapse  backward  into  the 
dark.  The  President  pleads  that  the  world  shall  be 
made  safe  for  democracy,  but  Christianity  demands 
that  democracy  itself  shall  be  redeemed." 

He  continued  passionately: 

"If  this  Centenary  of  ours  is  to  be  a  sentimental  cele- 
bration of  something  that  happened  a  hundred  years 
ago,  I  have  no  time  for  it.  If  it  is  to  be  made  the 
occasion  for  a  clever  piece  of  church  finance,  no  patri- 
otic American  will  stand  for  it.  I  myself  repudiate  it 
with  all  my  soul.  It  is  churchly  camouflage. 

"But,  men,"  the  mahogany  desk  was  a  cathedral 
pulpit  now,  "don't  you  see  it?  The  Centenary  at  Old 
First  is  God's  hand  helping  us  to  'gear'  ourselves  to 
the  tasks  of  a  new  Christianity.  The  other  churches 
must  meet  it  as  well  as  we — that  same  world  issue ;  but 
Old  First  will  have  the  joy  of  meeting  it  as  a  stripling 


AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING       31 

of  twenty-one  meets  the  inevitable  burden  of  manhood 
— the  burden  was  bound  to  come,  it  comes  easier  amid 
the  birthday  greetings  of  friends." 

As  Richard  Locke  paused  and  resumed  his  seat  Mr. 
Kennedy's  eyes  were  riveted  upon  his  face.  He  had 
supposed  the  pastor's  plummet  would  fall  into  the 
familiar  shallows  of  "church  loyalty"  and  "missionary 
needs,"  but  the  line  had  plunged  into  an  ocean  whose 
thrilling  depths  he  dared  not  fathom.  The  next  words 
startled  him. 

"Men,  let's  meet  it  square:  If  Old  First  is  to  become 
an  efficient  church,  are  you — am  I — ready  to  adjust 
ourselves  to  the  facts  and  issues  involved?" 

For  five  minutes  James  Gilbert  had  been  intent  upon 
a  brass  paper  weight.  If  he  had  been  moved  it  was  not 
apparent.  He  spoke  with  habitual  business  precision. 

"What  facts  and  issues  do  you  mean,  Dr.  Locke?" 

It  was  the  pastor  now  who  realized  the  incisive  di- 
rectness of  the  banker's  question — as  though  one  sud- 
denly were  required  to  name  and  specify  the  "dark  un- 
fathomed  caves"  of  that  same  unfathomed  ocean.  But 
his  words  came  with  strength. 

"I  have  spoken  presumptuously.  I  cannot  name  the 
'issues'  that  confront  the  church,  much  less  define  them. 
They  are  spiritual,  they  belong  to  the  atmosphere. 
Nevertheless  they  may  be  recognized  without  difficulty 
— as  we  recognize  transparency  in  glass  or  oxygen  in 
the  air;  they  are  recognized  by  their  absence. 

"Let  me  illustrate  what  I  mean,"  he  continued,  for  he 
saw  that  his  words  had  taken  hold.  "I  spent  my  vaca- 
tion, as  you  know,  in  New  York  city.  It  is  the  great- 
est metropolitan  center  on  the  planet  and  packed  to 


32        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

the  core  with  human  interest.  If  ever  the  Church  of 
Christ  was  challenged  to  high  leadership  in  the  midst  of 
driving  human  forces,  the  thousand  churches  of  New 
York  have  received  that  challenge  now.  And  yet  it  is 
a  despair  and  mockery  that  these  great  churches 
seem  like  shallow  skiffs  floating  on  the  tide  when  they 
ought  to  be,  and  if  they  were  efficient  would  be,  like  the 
resistless  lifting  of  the  tide  itself." 

"New  York  is  blase,"  interrupted  the  banker  sen- 
tentiously;  "the  people  have  neither  faith  nor  senti- 
ment." 

"On  the  contrary,  New  York  pulses  with  human  fel- 
lowship." The  pastor  spoke  eagerly.  "I  was  there  when 
Joffre  was  welcomed.  I  felt  the  lift  of  their  passionate 
sympathy  with  France.  It  exalted  the  whole  continent. 
And,  men,  Christ  could  draw  those  millions  into  thrill- 
ing fellowship  with  himself  if  'efficient'  churches 
knew  how  to  lift  him.  Their  lack  of  spiritual  vision, 
and  therefore  their  failure  to  command  the  public  mind 
— these  are  the  facts  and  issues,  Mr.  Gilbert,  which 
confront  the  American  churches."  Then,  with  wistful- 
ness,  "And  these  are  the  facts  and  issues  which  confront 
us  at  Old  First." 

Richard  Locke  paused  and  his  friends  looked  at  him 
inquiringly.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  not  finished 
what  he  desired  to  say. 

"I'm  going  to  put  a  straight  question  in  finance." 
He  addressed  the  banker. 

"Go  ahead,  sir ;  that's  my  line." 

"First,  then,  Mr.  Gilbert,  if  our  plans  for  the  Cen- 
tenary did  not  involve  a  campaign  for  money,  would 
there  be  any  question  as  to  its  'timeliness'?" 


AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING       33 

"Certainly  not,  Dr.  Locke;  that's  the  very  meat  of 
the  nut." 

"Is  First  Church  becoming  impoverished  because  of 
the  war?" 

"Hardly  that,  but  you  must  not  forget  the  great 
popular  subscriptions,  such  as  the  Red  Cross  and  Y. 
M.  C.  A.  Our  own  church  people  have  taken  their  fair 
share — and  these  war  funds  must  be  continued." 

"I  do  not  forget  them,  Mr.  Gilbert;  but  would  you 
say  that  these  war  work  subscriptions  have  been  sacri- 
ficial? Are  they  not  rather  a  token  of  enlarged  abil- 
ity ?  Surely,  First-Church  people  have  had  some  share 
in  the  remarkable  war  profits  which  have  been  piling  up 
in  this  city." 

There  was  an  uneasy  movement  on  either  side  of  the 
mahogany  desk,  but  Richard  Locke  was  a  wise  pastor 
and  did  not  choose  to  take  note  of  all  that  he  could  see ; 
he  was  a  guide,  not  a  detective.  He  continued: 

"Have  you  felt  the  difference  between  the  financial 
drive  and  the  spiritual  drift  of  our  business  men?  Or, 
let  me  put  it  to  you  straight — are  you  me*i  gripped  by 
the  spiritual  movement  at  Old  First  as  you  are  by  the 
financial  movement  in  the  same  business  district?" 

"Perhaps  not,  Dr.  Locke."  James  Gilbert  spoke 
with  frankness. 

"Do  you  know  the  reason?" 

"Well,"  with  a  forced  laugh,  "I  suppose  it's  the 
'love  of  money,'  as  the  Good  Book  says." 

"It's  worse  than  that,  sir,  it's  the  lure  of  money." 

Sanford  Kennedy  whirled  toward  his  pastor — 
"What  do  you  mean,  'lure'  ?" 

"I  mean  'the  deceitfulness  of  riches.'     Money  is  not 


34        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

a  commodity;  it  is  a  mystic  life  force;  it  is  stored-up 
spiritual  power — and  right  here  our  strongest  men 
constantly  are  misled.  They  do  not  correctly 
locate  the  old,  old  difference  between  the  church 
and  the  'world,'  a  difference  which  never  can  be 
annulled.  Therefore  they  fail  to  recognize  that  the 
financial  drive  of  business  is  and  ought  to  be  the 
spiritual  drive  of  the  church." 

James  Gilbert  had  again  become  intent  upon  the 
brass  paper  weight,  but  Mr.  Kennedy  was  looking  into 
the  face  of  his  pastor  as  one  who  searched  for  some- 
thing that  eluded  him.  Richard  Locke  was  sensible  of 
the  softened  atmosphere  and  continued  with  a  man's 
strong  sympathy: 

"This  is  the  main  reason  I  have  looked  forward  with 
such  eagerness  to  the  financial  part  of  our  Centenary 
— we  would  study  the  meaning  of  money  as  a  fact  in 
spiritual  leadership  and  as  the  nerve  center  of  com- 
munity service." 

Sanford  Kennedy  seemed  suddenly  to  find  the  clue 
he  had  been  seeking.  "  The  main  reason,'  Dr.  Locke, 
is  not  always  the  compelling  one;  is  there  no  other?" 
he  asked. 

Richard  Locke's  face  flushed.  "Forgive  me,  men," 
he  said,  "I  have  not  thought  to  deceive  you ;  perhaps  I 
have  been  deceiving  myself.  Every  word  that  I  have 
spoken  is  the  fundamental  truth,  and  yet,  I  confess  I 
have  been  holding  back  the  passion  that  consumes  me." 

The  two  men  stared  at  him,  but  the  pastor  cared 
nothing  for  their  astonished  look.  His  words  came 
in  a  swelling  torrent. 

"I  dare  not  and  I  will  not  remain  a  passive  onlooker 


AN  UNOFFICIAL  BOARD  MEETING       35 

in  this  hour  of  the  world's  agony.  If  the  church  has 
no  commanding  message,  then  so  much  the  worse  for 
the  church — she  will  shrivel  in  the  midst  of  virile  men. 
I  will  give  up  my  pastorate  and  seek  service  at  the 
front.  I  am  still  a  young  man  and  I  have  neither  wife 
nor  child"  (the  firm  lips  became  tense  and  white  as  in 
the  presence  of  a  haunting  memory)  ;  "God  forbid  that 
I  should  hold  a  safe  and  easy  place  while  other  men  are 
yielding  up  their  lives. 

"That's  my  burden !  It's  on  me  night  and  day.  If 
I  have  been  slow  in  telling  you,  it's  because  I  myself 
have  been  slow  in  realizing  it.  But  you  have  it  now. 
Can  the  church  give  victorious  leadership  in  this  hour 
of  human  need? 

"Our  Centenary  has  seemed  to  me  a  magnificent 
frontal  drive  that  would  interpret  Christ's  message  in 
terms  of  life  and  carry  it  into  the  heart  of  this  com- 
munity. That's  why  I've  dreamed  of  it  and  prayed 
for  it  and  planned  for  it.  And  that's  why  I  haven't 
envied  the  men  in  khaki — I  was  in  the  heart  of  things 
myself.  And  now  if  the  church  fails,  or,  worse,  if  the 
plans  are  called  in,  it  will  seem  like  yielding  up  my 
sword  and  retiring  to  the  rear,"  and  Richard  Locke 
turned  away  his  head. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  As  though  lifting 
and  throwing  away  a  burden,  he  looked  up  with  his  old 
winsome  smile. 

"Don't  think  of  me,"  he  said.  "I'll  find  my  place 
somewhere.  As  for  the  church  plans,  I  want  you  to  be 
wholly  undisturbed.  Unless  Old  First  clearly  under- 
stands the  purpose  of  our  Centenary  I  myself  shall 
advise  that  the  plans  be  withdrawn.  I  refuse  to  juggle 


36        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Christ's  gospel  in  order  to  put  across  a  church 
budget." 

As  Sanford  Kennedy  and  James  Gilbert  looked  into 
the  unclouded  eyes  of  their  pastor,  the  persuasion  grew 
into  a  conviction  that  there  was  a  majestic  world  pur- 
pose in  the  Great  War  which  was  more  than  the  defeat 
of  the  Germans. 

Mr.  Kennedy  arose.  The  lines  in  his  face  were  deep 
with  added  care,  but  the  gentleness  of  a  woman  was 
there  also. 

"I  shall  be  grateful,  Dr.  Locke,  if  you  will  lay  before 
the  next  Board  meeting  our  Centenary  program  as  you 
think  it  ought  to  be.  Are  you  with  me  in  this,  Gil- 
bert?" 

"Most  cordially." 

"Then,  as  chairman  of  the  Board,  I  think  I  may 
offer  it  as  a  formal  request.  Is  this  too  much  to  ask?" 

The  pastor  did  not  answer.  He  had  risen  with  Mr. 
Kennedy,  and  was  pacing  the  length  of  the  president's 
office.  Suddenly  he  turned — 

«T11  do  it,  men,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  CHURCH  OF  YESTER-YEAR 

THE  second  American  war  with  England  de- 
cided nothing — but  determined  everything.  The 
Peace  of  Ghent  side-stepped  the  immediate  issue,  im- 
pressment of  American  seamen,  but  established  a  world 
fact:  the  solidarity  of  the  American  nation.  The  ad- 
venture of  '76  became  the  American  habit. 

That  is  why  the  story  of  Old  First,  like  the  story  of 
a  thousand  other  American  churches,  is  a  mirror  of  our 
most  intimate  American  history.  The  vision  of  the 
pioneers  and  the  dream  of  the  pathfinders  are  written 
into  its  records. 

A  nation's  spirit  is  like  the  free  spirit  of  a  man — 
high  adventure  requires  a  certain  background  of  as- 
surance. After  proud  England  had  been  fought  to  a 
standstill  and  the  insolence  of  the  Barbary  pirates  had 
been  chastened  by  Decatur's  guns,  Europe  accepted 
the  Western  republic  as  an  accomplished  fact.  The 
adolescent  nation  had  found  itself;  now  it  must  find  a 
place  big  enough  for  its  own  giant  spirit  to  expand. 
The  swinging  stride  of  a  hundred  years  would  bring 
Pershing's  army  to  the  plains  of  Picardy.  It  could 
not  be  accomplished  a  single  day  sooner. 

Eager  to  realize  his  destiny  among  the  nations,  and 
led  by  a  wisdom  larger  than  his  own,  the  young  giant 
plunged  into  the  wilderness  west  of  the  Alleghenies. 

37 


38        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Here,  in  the  basin  of  the  great  lakes  and  the  mighty 
valley  of  the  Mississippi,  the  spirit  of  America  would 
work  out  its  masterful  solutions.  The  world-meaning 
of  Bunker  Hill  and  Lexington  would  be  interpreted. 

As  early  as  181 4  a  steamboat  line  was  established 
between  Pittsburgh  and  New  Orleans — seven  years 
after  Robert  Fulton's  miracle-boat,  the  Clermont,  had 
startled  the  world  by  its  first  trip  on  the  Hudson. 
Fort  Niagara  at  the  east  and  Fort  Dearborn  at  the 
west  presently  insured  the  free  development  of  vast 
inland  seas. 

The  rest  was  inevitable.  Saint  Louis,  Cincinnati, 
Saint  Paul,  Buffalo,  Detroit,  Chicago — these  and  five 
hundred  throbbing  cities  of  the  plains  grew,  as  all  the 
west  and  south  was  bound  to  grow,  large  and  loose  and 
free. 

And  here,  between  the  Great  Lakes  and  the  Gulf,  the 
story  of  Old  First  began. 

A  hundred  years  have  passed  since  the  original  clap- 
board "meetinghouse"  proclaimed  that  God  never 
sends  but  always  leads  his  pioneers  into  the  wilderness. 
To  the  casual  historian  nothing  was  here  to  lift  or  en- 
noble life.  But  the  drudgery  of  work  and  the  squalor 
of  opportunity  brought  stately  compensations.  Men 
dwelt  apart  and  learned  the  primal  facts  of  God  and 
the  soul. 

The  church  in  those  wilderness  days  meant  to  the 
scattered  settlers  what  an  entire  circle  of  institutions 
must  mean  to-day.  For  this  very  reason  the  pioneer 
reached  a  spiritual  and  therefore  an  intellectual  su- 
premacy which  he  continues  to  hold.  The  reason  is 
plain. 


THE  CHURCH  OF  YESTER-YEAR        39 

To  the  pioneer  the  church  brought  clear  recognition 
of  unseen  and  spiritual  things,  yet  never  as  an  end  in 
themselves ;  these  always  were  related  to  the  intellectual 
and  moral  problems  of  actual  life.  The  pioneer  had 
neither  time  nor  disposition  to  become  a  "thinker,"  yet 
he  was  able  to  render  mental  and  moral  judgments  with 
almost  intuitive  precision. 

It  was  the  normal  development  in  American  life  of 
what  we  shall  not  see  again — the  church  meetinghouse 
the  only  and  the  necessary  center  for  social  fellowship, 
for  intellectual  quickening,  and  for  ethical  instruction. 
The  glory  of  it  was  this:  that  the  whole  circle  of  life 
was  shot  through  with  religious  and  spiritual  ideals. 
The  church,  as  a  definite  social  unit,  became  "inter- 
ested" in  political  and  national  problems. 

And  herein  is  the  difference  between  church  life  then 
and  now — national  and  social  problems  were  judged 
as  "church"  questions. 

For  instance,  Richard  Locke,  during  the  first  year  of 
his  pastorate,  had  sought  to  arouse  the  membership  of 
Old  First  to  the  menace  as  well  as  the  opportunity 
which  immigration  must  bring  to  American  Christian- 
ity. But  the  intelligent  leadership  of  Old  First  con- 
gratulated their  pastor  on  his  masterly  marshaling  of 
the  facts — and  refused  to  become  aroused.  Immigra- 
tion was  an  honored  American  institution ;  it  could  now 
be  taken  for  granted,  or,  at  best,  left  to  the  ponderous 
wisdom  of  the  Congress.  The  church,  as  such,  was  but 
mildly  concerned. 

With  a  keen  sense  of  something  lost  the  pastor  of 
Old  First  read  the  faded  records  of  "Quarterly  Meet- 
ings" where  backwoodsmen  of  a  century  ago  were  alive 


40       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

and  alert  to  the  Christian  interpretation  of  national 
problems.  The  significance  of  immigration  was  not 
lost  to  those  clear-thinking  pioneers. 

Some  painstaking  secretary,  probably  the  traveling 
preacher  himself,  had  copied  into  the  church  record 
the  immigration  figures  taken  from  Niles*  Weekly 
Register,  an  early  century  newspaper  published  in 
Baltimore  and  devoured  by  hungry  settlers  in  their 
wilderness  cabins.  The  figures,  after  one  hundred 
years  of  national  development,  are  significant  of  many 
things.  The  record  is  for  immigrants  arriving  during 
two  weeks  of  the  summer  of  1817: 

"From  England,  649 ;  Wales,  51 ;  Ireland,  581 ;  Scot- 
land, 134;  Germany  and  Switzerland,  826;  France,  31 
—total,  2,272." 

But  even  more  significant  is  the  comment  of  the 
editor  transcribed  to  that  church  record  of  a  forgot- 
ten generation: 

"The  degree  of  suffering  must  ever  be  very  great  to 
rouse  a  courage  sufficient  to  cause  many  to  fly  to  a 
strange  land  from  whence  they  never  expect  to  return ; 
but  in  spite  of  this,  and  all  the  strong  ties  of  kindred 
and  home,  the  immigration  is  powerful  and  will  in- 
crease. We  have  room  enough  yet;  let  them  come. 
The  tree  of  liberty  we  have  planted  is  for  the  healing  of 
the  people  of  all  nations." 

Richard  Locke's  knowledge  of  American  history  was 
challenged  by  the  official  records  of  Old  First — chal- 
lenged and  inspired.  Here,  hidden  under  brief  and 
often  casual  reference,  were  nerve  centers  of  American 
life  that  thrilled  to  his  eager  and  sympathetic  touch. 

Was  it  nothing  that  the  first  log  meetinghouse  was 


THE  CHURCH  OF  YESTER-YEAR         41 

replaced  by  a  commodious  brick  church,  completed  dur- 
ing the  summer  of  1824,  when,  it  is  recorded,  "a  cheer- 
ful company  gathered  in  the  new  church  to  celebrate 
the  visit  of  Lafayette  to  the  United  States  and  return 
thanks  to  God  for  his  manifold  blessings  upon  our 
nation" — was  it  a  mere  memorandum  in  an  old  church 
record  ? 

The  slow-moving  decades  that  saw  Old  First  increase 
in  numbers  and  wealth  and  dignity  were  the  same  dec- 
ades that  saw  American  ideals  warped  and  weathered 
into  American  life.  Nor  was  it  a  smooth  and  passion- 
less history.  Scars  were  there,  for  strife  and  division 
wrought  tragedy  in  the  church  as  in  the  nation. 

But  it  was  all  intensely  human.  The  widespread 
panic  that  afflicted  the  country  during  the  presidency 
of  Mr.  Van  Buren  brought  double  sorrow  to  the  wor- 
shipers at  the  "brick  church,"  for  it  was  destroyed  by 
fire,  and  the  discouraged  people  hardly  had  heart  to 
clear  away  the  wreckage. 

During  the  forties  Old  First  was  housed  in  an  un- 
sightly unfinished  building,  which  in  turn  fell  victim  ta 
the  flames  on  the  very  day  that  General  Scott  entered 
the  palace  of  the  Montezumas.  The  Mexican  War 
had  been  bitterly  opposed  by  the  saints  at  Old  First, 
and  worldlings  wagged  their  heads  and  remarked  that 
Providence  had  chosen  one  day  for  double  judgment. 

Then  gold  was  discovered  in  California  and  saint 
and  sinner  forgot  their  differences  and  talked  only  of 
the  "golden  age"  that  had  come.  Millions  of  yellow 
wealth  poured  back  across  the  plains. 

Old  First  felt  the  quickening  flow  and  was  rebuilt  in 
strength  and  beauty.  The  walls  were  lifted  with  praise 


42        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

and  the  timbers  set  with  jubilation.  Moreover,  the 
"liberals"  were  able  to  control  the  building  plans.  A 
choir  loft  and  organ  marked  the  passing  of  the  hard 
and  strait  days  of  the  wilderness,  while  a  simple  yet 
stately  tower  gave  churchly  dignity — for  which  two 
generations  of  townsmen  have  not  ceased  to  be  grateful. 
And  now  began  a  service  to  the  community  and  to 
the  nation  which  words  never  can  measure.  How  the 
walls  of  Old  First  echoed  with  clarion  voices  during 
those  last  fierce  days  of  the  slavery  debate!  What 
hushed  and  whispered  prayers  were  lifted  there  during 
all  those  anxious  days  of  Civil  War!  What  mighty 
men  had  stood  within  its  pulpit,  what  noble  heads  had 
bowed  beside  that  altar  rail ! 

"Surely,  our  second  century  shall  be  worthy  of  our 
first!"  It  was  Richard  Locke's  parting  word  as  he 
left  the  president's  office  that  morning  at  the  City 
National  Bank. 

And  Sanford  Kennedy  answered  with  a  troubled 
look,  "It  ought  to  be,  Dr.  Locke,  but  it's  up  to  you  to 
make  the  people  see  it.  In  my  judgment  the  'angel'  of 
Old  First  has  undertaken  a  man's  job  this  time!" 

The  pastor's  laugh  was  like  a  crisp  winesap  in 
October.  "The  'angel'  of  Old  First  has  men  to  stand 
by  him,"  he  said,  and  passed  into  the  bank  for  a  word 
with  Rhodin  Curtis. 

The  president  was  smiling  broadly  as  he  turned  to 
Sanford  Kennedy.  "I  declare,  Locke's  laugh  is  a  tonic 
for  tired  nerves ;  he  would  put  courage  into  any  water- 
soaked  trench  in  northern  France!" 

"It's  faith,  Gilbert,  the  old  prophetic  faith  that  you 


THE  CHURCH  OF  YESTER-YEAR         43 

read  about.  I  knew  something  of  it  myself  once  on  a 
time,  but  it's  been  oozing  away  from  me  for  twenty 
years.  If  Locke's  Centenary  program  will  bring  back 
my  lost  ideals,  Old  First  can  have  anything  I've  got," 
and  Sanford  Kennedy  looked  moodily  out  of  the 
window. 


CHAPTER  V 
STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT 

RICHARD  LOCKE  walked  straight  to  the  cashier's 
desk. 

"Rho" — it  was  curious  that  no  one  called  Rhodin 
Curtis  by  his  peculiarly  "pet"  name  except  his  own 
wife  and  Richard  Locke,  especially  so  as  Clara  Curtis 
disliked  and  shunned  the  popular  pastor  of  First 
Church. 

"Rho,  I  need  your  help;  can  you  come  to  the  Boys' 
Club  to-night  at  eight?" 

Rhodin  Curtis  looked  at  him  with  level  eyes. 
"What's  the  game,  Richard?  Are  you  playing  it 
straight?" 

"Straight  as  a  shortstop's  throw  to  first!  I'll  play 
the  game  as  nearly  as  I  can  without  a  scratch,  but  I've 
told  you  more  than  once,  Rho,  that  I  intend  to  put  you 
out,  and  I'll  do  it.  I  may  miss  my  throw  at  first  and 
second,  and  even  at  third,  but  I'll  get  you  at  the  home 
plate  if  I  wait  for  thirty  years!  A  man  like  you 
simply  must  not  be  permitted  to  score  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  tally-sheet." 

"Maybe  the  game  will  be  called  before  either  of  us  has 
a  chance  to  score.  I  wish  to  thunder  it  would!"  and 
Rhodin  Curtis  closed  his  desk  with  sudden  emphasis. 
And  then — 

"Come  and  lunch  with  me,  Dick,  though  I  give  you 

44 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  45 

warning  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  mood  and  intend  to  turn 
you  down  cold." 

"I'll  chance  it,  old  man,"  and  they  left  the  bank 
together. 

If  birth  and  breeding  are  conditions  of  friendship 
then  preacher  and  banker  were  polewide  apart.  If 
education  and  mental  habit  were  needed  to  bring  them 
together  then  the  cleavage  between  them  was  complete. 

Richard  Locke  was  manor-born  and  college-bred. 
He  was  in  the  ninth  generation  from  Lionel  Locke,  one 
of  the  London  gentlemen  who  sailed  with  Lord  Dela- 
ware and  reached  the  Jamestown  colony  at  the  close  of 
the  fearful  winter  of  1609-10,  long  known  in  Virginia 
annals  as  the  "Starving  Time." 

For  three  hundred  years  there  had  not  wanted  a 
Locke  in  the  intellectual  and  social  development  of 
American  life — first  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley  of  old 
Virginia,  later  in  the  Blue  Grass  counties  of  Kentucky. 
These  had  been  for  the  most  part  "country  gentlemen," 
with  a  good  sprinkling  of  lawyers  and  doctors.  Rich- 
ard was  the  fourth  Locke  to  become  a  minister — "not 
a  very  good  showing,"  his  mother  used  to  say;  for 
Richard's  mother  was  a  Winthrop,  and,  after  the 
straitest  manner,  a  New  Englander. 

The  boy's  earliest  memory  was  of  a  vine-grown 
manse  near  the  Kentucky  river,  nesting  in  its  own 
grounds  far  back  from  the  Lexington  Pike.  He  used 
to  ask  Lissa  which  was  "rounder" — the  big  white 
columns  on  the  portico  or  the  big  dark  elms  by  the 
gate.  And  old  Mammy  Lissa  would  laugh  and  answer, 
"Lor',  chile,  dey's  bof  as  roun'  as  you'  big  blue  eyes," 


46       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

— which  Dicky  thought  was  the  perfection  of  polite- 
ness. 

Before  he  was  eight  years  old  he  knew  the  meaning 
of  grief — first,  when  his  brown-coated  pony,  Ginger, 
broke  her  leg  and  had  to  be  shot,  and  then — but  he 
never  could  think  of  it  without  crying.  They  led  him 
one  day  into  the  big  chamber  next  to  the  drawing  room 
where  his  beautiful  brave  father  was  lying  white  and 
still.  Then,  after  a  month,  his  mother  started  with 
him  on  a  long  journey  to  "Grandma  Winthrop's"  and 
the  little  lad  saw  the  Kentucky  hills  no  more. 

Richard  Locke  grew  up  as  a  true  son  of  New  Eng- 
land, but  a  white-columned  portico,  and  kind  old  Lissa, 
and  dear  brown  Ginger  remained  a  constant  and  vivid 
memory.  The  call  of  the  South  and  the  voice  of  the 
North  were  for  him  a  blended  speech. 

College  and  seminary — a  honeymoon  beyond  seas 
with  Frances,  his  boyhood  sweetheart  and  his  college 
love — then  three  strong  years  in  a  growing  church  in 
the  suburbs.  After  that  the  picture  became  blurred 
and  dim,  for  he  never  permitted  himself  to  look  back 
into  that  chamber  of  agony. 

He  remembered  how  they  lifted  Frances  out  of  the 
wreckage,  and  how  they  placed  little  Lionel  on  the  bank 
beside  her,  but  all  the  rest  of  it  was  a  whirling  night- 
mare of  dust  and  broken  gear.  It  was  twelve  months 
before  he  dared  to  drive  another  automobile  and  three 
years  before  he  tried  to  carry  a  man's  work  with  a 
man's  strength. 

At  thirty  Richard  Locke  answered  the  call  to  Old 
First — "Ready,"  as  he  wrote  McRae,  "to  lift  with 
every  ounce  that's  in  me,  though,  God  knows,  it  will  be 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  47 

a  lonely  lift  for  me."  But  when  McRae  wrote  back, 
"Marry  again,"  he  burned  the  letter. 

His  spinster  aunt,  Kate  Winthrop,  had  been  his 
solace  and  friend  since  the  death  of  his  mother  when  he 
was  at  the  Seminary.  On  his  call  to  Old  First  she  took 
her  place  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  gentle  guardian  of 
the  pastor's  home. 

If  it  was  a  "lonely  lift"  no  one  ever  dreamed  it;  for 
Richard  Locke  did  not  wear  crepe  on  his  sleeve — nor 
his  heart,  either.  First  Church  parsonage  became  the 
center  of  parish  life,  both  grave  and  thoughtful,  eager 
and  gay.  As  for  the  pastor,  the  young  people  believed 
in  him,  the  poor  of  the  city  loved  him,  and — it  was 
Rhodin  Curtis  who  said  it  when  his  name  was  proposed 
at  the  Commercial  Club — "Locke  is  a  man's  man." 

It  is  worth  recording  how  Rhodin  Curtis  made  that 
discovery.  He  was  not  a  churchman,  but  he  went  once 
or  twice  with  Clara  to  hear  the  new  preacher.  He 
liked  the  straightforward  speech  of  the  man  and  some- 
thing in  the  preacher's  message  nested  in  his  heart. 

But  one  Sunday  Clara  came  home  from  service  with 
her  lips  pressed  together.  "I'm  finished  at  Old  First," 
she  said. 

"What's  troubling  you,  sweetheart?" 

"Of  all  things  in  the  world,  Rho!  Dr.  Locke  said 
that  some  of  my  dearest  friends  are  untruthful!" 

"Said  what!" 

"Well,  he  didn't  use  exactly  that  language,  but  that's 
exactly  what  he  implied.  Mrs.  Kave  Rogers  was  a  per- 
fect angel  afterward,  full  of  gentleness  and  forgiveness. 
But  she  said  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  stay  away 
from  church  if  the  minister  felt  it  was  his  duty  to  insult 


48        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

some  of  the  members  of  his  congregation.  She  was 
just  right,  too,  and  I'm  finished  at  Old  First!" 

The  next  morning  Rhodin  read  the  outline  of  Dr. 
Locke's  sermon  in  the  Gazette — the  Monday  papers 
gave  the  churches  liberal  space.  He  had  preached 
from  the  text,  "If  we  say  that  we  have  no  sin,  we  de- 
ceive ourselves,  and  the  truth  is  not  in  us."  These 
words  arrested  him: 

"Sin  is  the  common  tragedy  of  us  all.  It  is  not 
merely  a  theory  of  evil,  it  is  a  fact  of  experience.  To 
deny  its  existence  and  call  it  an  ugly  concept  of  the 
mind  is  the  subtlest  form  of  self-deception — and  self- 
deception  means  that  common  facts  no  longer  ap- 
peal to  us.  The  startling  word  of  the  text  then  be- 
comes our  menace:  'The  truth  is  not  in  us.'  Moral 
degeneracy  has  begun,  even  in  the  midst  of  culture  and 
beauty." 

"That  was  straight  talk,  Clara,"  her  husband  re- 
marked at  the  breakfast  table,  "and  my  only  criticism 
is  that  Dr.  Locke  should  hand  out  strong  stuff  like  that 
to  a  bunch  of  kid-gloved  saints.  Kave  Rogers  needed 
it  all  right,  but  I  don't  understand  why  his  wife  should 
be  so  troubled.  She  has  religion  enough  for  ten  ordi- 
nary women,  though  I  didn't  quite  follow  her  line  of 
talk  when  you  had  that  sick  headache  last  week,  and 
she  'dropped  in  on  you,'  as  she  said.  Anyhow,  I'll  be 
glad  for  you  to  cut  church  and  go  out  with  me  in  the 
car." 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  'cut  church,'  Rho!  Mrs. 
Rogers  has  invited  me  to  a  lecture  in  their  drawing 
room  next  Thursday  evening.  Professor  Roome,  from 
Boston,  is  going  to  speak  on  'Reality,'  and  if  I  like  it 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  49 

I'm  going  to  join  a  reading  club  that  meets  every 
Sunday  morning  at  the  Art  Institute.  You  come  too, 
Rho ;  that's  a  dear !" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  see  myself  on  Sunday  mornings  rum- 
maging through  a  lot  of  notions!  I've  got  'Reality' 
to  the  limit  at  the  bank — I'll  leave  the  'rummage  sales' 
for  you,"  and  then,  as  she  bridled  a  little,  "Take  this," 
and  Rhodin  Curtis  blew  a  laughing  kiss  across  the 
breakfast  table. 

A  little  later,  as  she  stood  beside  him  in  the  hall,  he 
circled  her  slender  waist  with  his  arm  and  said,  almost 
coaxingly,  "Don't  you  think,  Clara,  you  would  better 
reconsider  that  church  proposition?  I'm  a  reprobate 
myself,  but  I  feel  awfully  safe  with  you  sitting  by 
mother's  side  at  Old  First.  I  can't  help  thinking  of 
the  future,  you  know,  and  especially  little  Arthur." 

Clara's  answer  left  a  sting  that  remained  with  him 
long  afterward.  "If  I'm  to  be  responsible  for  choos- 
ing the  religion  of  the  family,  then  I  shall  choose  the 
religion  that  appeals  to  my  own  taste." 

Rhodin  kissed  her  with  his  accustomed  gallantry  and 
left  her  smiling  in  the  doorway.  He  waved  his  hand 
as  he  turned  into  the  avenue,  and  she  never  dreamed 
that  he  was  swearing  under  his  breath  nor  that  he  sat 
down  at  his  desk  thirty  minutes  afterward  with  a 
strange  depression  upon  him. 

At  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  Rhodin  Curtis  pulled 
himself  together  and  decided  that  he  needed  a  tonic. 
That  meant  just  one  thing,  and  an  hour  later  he  was 
sitting  on  the  side  lines  at  South  Park,  where  the 
"Wolverines"  were  scheduled  to  play  their  last  game 
with  the  "Athletics." 


50        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

He  sat  moodily  watching  the  practice  play  before 
the  game  when  his  interest  was  suddenly  aroused  by  the 
arrival  of  a  keen-faced  young  Italian  whom  he  recog- 
nized as  Tony  Carrari,  the  proprietor  of  a  shoe  shin- 
ing business.  His  individual  stand  was  near  the  bank. 
He  came  with  an  air  of  importance  that  was  altogether 
evident,  leading  a  group  of  ten  or  eleven  Italian  boys. 
Richard  Locke,  in  cap  and  sweater,  brought  up  the  rear. 
They  took  two  rows  of  seats  in  front  of  Curtis,  evi- 
dently reserved  for  them. 

"Great  business,  this,  Mr.  Curtis,"  was  the  pastor's 
genial  greeting,  for  already  he  had  a  speaking  ac- 
quaintance with  the  cashier  of  the  City  National. 

"Great  Caesar !  I  should  say  so,  Dr.  Locke !  Where 
under  the  stars  did  you  pick  up  that  string  of  spa- 
ghetti?" 

"Aren't  they  fine?"  was  the  enthusiastic  reply — 
passing  over  unnoticed  the  phrase  which  he  saw  by  the 
flash  in  Tony's  eyes  was  resented.  "This  is  my  first 
tryout  of  our  downtown  program  at  Old  First.  If  it 
succeeds  I'm  going  to  make  a  proposition  to  the  Board. 
Three  of  these  boys  are  not  yet  two  months  out  of 
Naples,  and  Tony  is  the  only  one  who  has  been  here 
more  than  a  year." 

Just  then  the  umpire  called  "Play  ball!"  and  two 
hours  afterward  Richard  Locke  and  Rhodin  Curtis 
walked  out  of  South  Park  arm  in  arm,  friends  and  lov- 
ers for  the  years  to  come.  How  the  thing  happened 
neither  could  quite  understand,  yet  both  men  knew  that 
an  alliance  had  been  signed  and  sealed. 

Curtis  lunched  the  next  day  with  Mr.  Gilbert  and 
tried  to  explain  what  had  taken  place. 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  51 

"You  know,  Locke  got  that  bunch  of  little  dag — 
No,  I'll  never  call  them  that  again !  Those  little  chaps 
snuggled  up  to  him  like  a  bunch  of  brothers,  and  he 
began  explaining  the  game  to  them — in  their  own 
lingo,  mark  you — until  you  could  see  the  excitement 
blazing  in  their  big  black  eyes.  He  made  them  follow 
every  turn  around  the  bases,  and  when  Joe  Peters  sent 
a  fly  over  left  field  that  brought  in  two  runs,  one  little 
chap  stood  on  the  bench  and  yelled !  That  finished  me ! 
I  made  Tony  change  seats  and  took  three  or  four  little 
fellows  who  understood  a  bit  of  English  and  put  them 
next  to  the  fine  points  of  the  game.  I  don't  know  how 
much  they  got,  but  I  know  what  I  got — a  jar  to  my 
whole  notion  of  the  Italians!  I  tell  you,  when  I  saw 
that  little  chap,  two  months  out  of  Naples,  stand  up 
on  the  seat  and  yell  because  a  preacher  had  helped  him 
to  understand  American  baseball,  I  became  a  home  mis- 
sionary on  the  spot !  Richard  Locke  can  have  my  vote 

for  anything  he  wants  in  this  town." 

I 

Three  years  had  passed  since  the  ball  game  at  South 
Park,  and  swift  friendship  had  ripened  into  strong 
affection.  It  was  the  calling  of  strength  to  strength, 
like  oak  trees  at  the  edge  of  a  forest. 

Rhodin  Curtis  was  a  graft  of  many  stems — Scotch, 
Irish,  Scandinavian,  French — "a  genuine  American," 
he  was  proud  to  insist.  His  family  tree  had  so  many 
roots  to  it  that  he  seriously  contemplated,  he  said,  a 
change  of  name  to  "Banyan" — that  is,  he  used  to  say 
it  until  he  saw  how  it  discomfited  Clara,  who  was  plac- 


52        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

idly  proud  of  her  Heustis  blood.  Clara  was  to  him  "a 
garden  inclosed,"  the  perennial  bloom  of  his  affection. 
His  one  ambition  was  to  shut  her  away  from  trouble, 
and  even  annoyance. 

Rhodin's  grandfather — he  traced  his  pedigree  no 
further — had  been  a  hardy  fisherman  among  the  coves 
and  inlets  of  Lake  Huron.  His  father  became  a  boat 
builder  at  Cheboygan,  with  a  blacksmith  shop  as  a  side 
line.  When  the  boy  was  sixteen  he  was  placed  in 
charge  of  the  shop. 

One  afternoon  just  before  his  twentieth  birthday  he 
banked  his  forge,  hung  his  leather  apron  on  the  nail, 
and  walked  into  the  kitchen  where  his  father  was  shap- 
ing a  tiller  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"I'm  through,  father,"  he  said. 

"Why,  it  ain't  four  o'clock  yet,  Rhode." 

"I'm  through  for  good ;  I'm  going  to  Detroit." 

There  was  no  quarrel.  Rhodin  Curtis  made  up  his 
mind  before  he  spoke,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  settled. 
To  Detroit  he  went.  For  three  months  he  was  a  dock 
hand  at  the  wharf — until  he  recognized  that  he  might 
better  have  remained  at  Cheboygan.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  thought  it  through.  The  next  day  he  made  appli- 
cation for  entrance  at  a  commercial  school  with  evening 
classes. 

For  the  next  year  his  work  was  cut  out  for  him — a 
dock  hand  during  the  day  and  a  tireless  student  far 
into  every  night.  At  the  end  of  the  year  he  left  his 
"job"  on  the  river  front  and  secured  a  "position"  with 
an  uptown  commission  house.  His  rise  was  rapid,  first 
as  salesman  and  then  as  accountant.  At  the  end  of  six 
years  he  sat  at  the  manager's  desk. 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  53 

His  native  ability  was  unusual,  yet  Rhodin  Curtis 
had  something  larger  than  trained  ability:  it  was  an 
intuitive  knowledge  of  men  and  courage  to  trust  his  own 
judgment  even  to  the  point  of  daring.  When  he  made 
an  error  he  did  not  weaken  himself  by  hesitancy  and 
self-distrust.  He  turned  his  mistakes  into  assets  for 
future  realization. 

The  Detroit  house  was  one  of  the  leading  corre- 
spondents of  the  City  National  Bank,  and  James  Gil- 
bert formed  a  high  judgment  of  the  progressive 
strength  of  the  young  Detroit  manager.  On  his  urgent 
recommendation  Rhodin  Curtis  was  invited  to  the  City 
National  as  assistant  cashier. 

Within  six  weeks  of  his  arrival  Rhodin  knew  to  a  hair 
his  first  year's  program,  namely,  to  convince  the  Board 
of  Directors  that  he  understood  how  to  create  new 
business  for  the  bank,  and  to  persuade  Clara  Heustis 
that  her  happiness  was  "bound  in  the  bundle  of  life" 
with  his  own. 

At  the  end  of  a  year  the  Gazette  gave  a  full  column 
to  "the  brilliant  wedding  last  evening  at  the  old  Heustis 
home  on  Park  Road."  The  closing  paragraph  made 
Mrs.  Heustis  glow  with  happiness : 

""Thus  one  of  our  oldest  and  most  honored  families 
confirms  the  judgment  of  financial  circles  throughout 
the  city,  that  Rhodin  Curtis  deserves  all  the  happiness 
and  the  unusual  success  that  have  come  to  him.  An- 
nouncement is  made  elsewhere  of  Mr.  Curtis's  unani- 
mous election  as  cashier  at  the  City  National  Bank." 

When  Richard  Locke  came  to  Old  First,  Rhodin 
Curtis  was  beginning  to  settle  into  the  staid  habits  of 
the  successful  man.  "I  was  getting  stale,"  he  said, 


54        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"and  that  ball  game  at  South  Park  gave  me  back  my 
'pep.'  " 

He  positively  refused  to  unite  with  Locke  in  any 
part  of  Old  First  activities,  but  gave  substantial  help 
in  opening  a  boys'  club  in  the  twelfth  ward.  "It's  a 
good  speculation,"  he  said. 

When  he  further  suggested  the  order  of  "Boy 
Boosters,"  and  offered  special  inducements  to  every 
member  of  the  club  who  would  open  a  savings  account 
at  the  bank,  the  pastor  called  him  "our  new  Franklin." 
But  Rhodin  laughed  at  him  and  said,  "It's  nothing  but 
my  insatiable  thirst  for  money.  These  savings  ac- 
counts will  mean  big  business  in  the  years  to  come,  and 
big  business  means  big  banking.  You  see,  I'm  joined 
to  my  idol,  Dick,  so  I  advise  you  to  give  me  up." 

And  Richard  Locke  looked  at  him.  "I'll  give  you 
up,  Rho,  at  the  end  of  the  ninth  inning,  not  a  day 
sooner."  After  Clara's  withdrawal  Rhodin  Curtis 
never  attended  service  at  Old  First,  and  the  pastor 
never  suggested  it.  Both  men  knew  the  reason  why, 
and  both  men  honored  each  other  with  a  man's  un- 
spoken sympathy. 

The  reading  club  at  the  Art  Institute,  now  increased 
to  a  considerable  company,  had  organized  into  the 
"Church  of  the  Reality,"  and  Clara  had  become  a 
charter  member.  When  a  building  project  was  an- 
nounced Rhodin  lifted  his  wife  to  an  ecstasy  of  delight 
by  promptly  subscribing  a  thousand  dollars.  Mrs. 
Kave  Rogers  proudly  announced  it  at  the  Woman's 
Club,  and  quietly  hinted — "No  doubt  Mr.  Curtis  is 
deeply  interested  in  'Reality  Teaching.' ' 

And  then  Miss  Winthrop  remarked  with  plain  New 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  55 

England  candor,  "I  believe  Mr.  Curtis  would  buy  Clara 
an  island  in  the  moon  if  she  wanted  it!"  It  was  said 
in  the  Winthrop  family  that  Richard  inherited  his  tact 
from  his  father. 

Once  in  a  long  while  Rhodin  Curtis  would  sit  beside 
his  wife  in  the  beautiful  little  "Reality"  Auditorium, 
built  like  a  diminutive  Greek  temple.  But  his  Sundays 
for  the  most  part  were  spent  on  the  golf  links — until  he 
made  an  unexpected  discovery. 

He  had  bitterly  resented  his  boyhood  limitations  and 
keenly  felt  his  lack  of  education.  But  having  made  up 
his  mind  there  was  no  help  for  it  he  carried  it  off  with 
ill-disguised  indifference.  He  tried  to  tell  himself  he 
was  a  "self-made  man,"  and  quite  independent  of 
"college  curlicues."  And  then  Richard  Locke  came 
into  his  life. 

Guided  by  an  unerring  instinct,  his  new  friend  talked 
to  him  of  books — not  "bookishly,"  but  as  an  educated 
man  always  will  speak,  with  natural  and  easy  fellowship 
— and  waited  his  chance.  One  morning  he  dropped  in 
at  the  bank  and  stopped  a  moment  at  the  cashier's 
desk.  He  was  laughing. 

"Look  here,  Curtis,  I  reckon  old  Tom  Carlyle  knew 
where  the  Prussians  would  get  off!"  and  he  opened  a 
pocket  edition  of  "Heroes"  and  pointed  to  a  passage 
heavily  penciled :  "There  is  a  Divine  Right  or  else  a  Di- 
abolic Wrong  at  the  heart  of  every  claim,  that  one  man 
makes  upon  another." 

"I  say,  Dick,  that's  hot  stuff,  isn't  it!  I'd  like  to 
get  hold  of  that  for  half  an  hour." 

"Take  it  along,  Rho,  I'm  through  with  it" — and 
Richard  Locke  went  down  the  steps  smiling. 


56        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

That  day  Rhodin  Curtis  learned  the  high  fellowship 
of  books.  He  discovered  within  himself — what  most 
virile  men  possess — an  eager  appetite  for  strong  and 
beautiful  expression.  It  was  the  beginning  of  mellow 
days,  for  liberal  culture  will  enter  at  any  open  door. 
And  yet  it  all  came  about  so  naturally  that  he  never 
once  suspected  Carlyle's  pocket  "Heroes"  was  a  meshed 
net  dropped  dexterously  into  the  current  by  a  skilled 
fisherman. 

And  Richard  Locke  had  his  reward.  About  three 
months  afterward  a  messenger  boy  delivered  at  Old 
First  parsonage  a  bulky  parcel.  It  was  two  volumes 
of  "Letters,"  the  life  correspondence  of  Emerson  and 
Carlyle. 

There  was  no  mark  of  identification,  but  as  the 
pastor  glanced  the  volumes  through,  his  eye  fell  on  the 
initials  "R.  C."  penciled  opposite  these  words — they 
were  part  of  a  letter  to  Emerson  and  carried  the 
heart's  cry  of  the  despairing  prophet  of  Chelsea: 
"Though  a  deep  dark  cleft  divides  us,  yet  the  rock- 
strata,  miles  deep,  unite  again  and  the  two  souls  are 
one." 

Richard  Locke  laid  the  volumes  tenderly  upon  the 
table  and  stretched  out  his  hands.  "O  God,  give  him 
to  me — even  if  the  cleft  becomes  a  chasm!" 

A  chasm?       ...  a  pit! 

If  men  could  peer  into  the  future,  would  they  dare 
to  pray? 

So  it  was,  three  years  after  the  ball  game  at  South 
Park,  that  Richard  Locke  stood  beside  the  cashier's 
desk  and  said — 


STRAWS  IN  THE  CURRENT  57 

"Rho,  I  need  your  help ;  can  you  come  to  our  Boys* 
Club  to-night  at  eight?" 

And  so  it  was,  also,  that  Rhodin  Curtis  looked  at  him 
with  level  eyes  and  said — 

"What's  the  game,  Richard?  Are  you  playing  it 
straight?" 

As  the  two  friends  turned  in  at  the  Commercial  Club, 
Rhodin  faced  the  preacher  square. 

"Look  here,  Dick — will  the  boys'  meeting  to-night 
have  anything  to  do  with  your  Centenary  scheme  at 
Old  First?  I've  heard  some  of  the  church  people  talk- 
ing about  it  and  I  ought  to  tell  you  straight  that  I'm 
not  with  you" — and  then  with  brusque  gentleness,  "It's 
a  pity  to  turn  you  down !" 

The  answer  came  with  a  flash:  "I  don't  expect  to  be 
turned  down!" 

There  was  a  shade  of  annoyance  in  Rhodin's  eyes, 
and  then  his  hand  gripped  Richard  Locke's  shoulder. 

"Come  along,  Dick,  I've  a  proposition  of  my  own  to 
make;  I  need  your  nerve." 


CHAPTER  VI 
AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB 

"  T  WISH  you  were  a  smoker."  Rhodin  Curtis  pushed 
Ji.  back  his  chair  and  lighted  a  strong  Havana. 

It  had  been  a  nervous,  half-tasted  meal,  unseasoned 
with  words,  for  both  men  were  preoccupied.  But 
there  is  a  fellowship  of  silence.  Whole-hearted 
sympathy  does  not  demand  conversation;  least  of  all 
will  it  "make  talk."  Friendship  accepts  a  confidence 
unspoken  and  is  content. 

Richard  Locke  seemed  not  to  hear  his  friend's  re- 
mark, but  finished  his  dessert  and  drank  his  coffee 
while  his  eyes  glanced  unquietly  across  the  table.  Pres- 
ently he  spoke — 

"Rho,  there's  something  troubling  you." 

Rhodin  Curtis  smiled  into  the  eyes  of  his  friend. 
But,  for  once,  there  was  no  answering  smile. 

"All  right.  I  admit  it,  I  am  troubled.  But  confess 
that  you  have  troubles  of  your  own,  my  preacher 
friend.  Now,  a  good  mild  'smoke*  would  comfort  you, 
although  I  confess  that  this  particular  brand  would  tan 
a  wooden  Indian,"  and  Rhodin  squared  his  elbows  on 
the  cloth  and  inhaled  vigorously. 

"I'm  afraid  no  brand  of  'smoke,'  from  Walter 
Raleigh  until  now,  would  quite  reach  my  trouble,  Rho." 

Instantly  the  half-consumed  cigar  was  crushed  into 
the  ash  tray.  "I  owe  you  an  apology,  Richard,  for 

58 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  59 

being  so  casual.  I  was  trying  to  cover  up  my  own 
beastly  humor.  Please  forget  it." 

"Rho  Curtis,  when  you  pushed  through  my  front 
door,  three  years  ago,  every  room  in  the  house  was  open 
to  you ;  they're  open  to  you  now — all  except  one  which 
you  insist  shall  be  kept  tight  locked,  more's  the  pity !" 
and  then,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  moving  forward  the 
ash  tray,  "Finish  your  smoke,  Rho,  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

"No,  I've  had  enough,  too  much ;  I  smoked  two  before 
breakfast  and  three  after — black  stogies  at  that.  I'm 
as  nervous  as  a  hedgehog  and  twice  as  ugly,"  and 
Rhodin  swallowed  a  glass  of  ice  water  with  feverish 
haste. 

"I  reckon  you've  told  half  the  truth,  my  dear  fellow." 

"The  whole  truth,  Richard."  Rhodin  looked  into 
his  plate  with  a  slowly  gathering  frown,  and  tapped 
impatiently  upon  the  table. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  and  then  Richard 
Locke  spoke  with  decision. 

"I'm  a  city  missionary,  Rho,  and  that  means  the  un- 
dertaking of  difficult  and  sometimes  dangerous  work. 
Just  now  I  need  your  help.  First  of  all,  I  want  you  to 
interview  the  cashier  of  the  City  National  Bank  and 
convince  him  that  his  own  safety  and  the  comfort  of  his 
friends  require  that  he  shall  go  with  me  into  the  north 
woods  for  a  week's  fishing.  Tell  him  we'll  start  Thurs- 
day morning  at  eight-thirty.  After  you've  accom- 
plished that,  please  report  and  I'll  have  another  job 
waiting." 

If  the  minister  of  Old  First  needed  new  proof  of  his 
friend's  constancy  it  was  afforded  now.  Rhodin's  knit 


60        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

brows  began  to  relax  and  a  flickering  smile  curved  his 
lips  and  overspread  his  face.  A  long  breath  seemed  to 
draw  the  tenseness  from  his  frame  and  rest  him. 

"Dick,  you're  a  brick !"  he  said,  with  quick  impulsive- 
ness. "If  'a  week  in  the  woods,'  is  your  text  you  may 
stop  right  there — no  need  of  the  sermon;  count  me  a 
convert  here  and  now!"  and  Rhodin  drew  another 
breath  that  seemed  to  drink  in  the  ozone  of  the  forest. 
Then  a  soft  look  came  into  his  eyes  and  he  added : 

"What  is  it? — telepathy,  mind- reading,  or  what? 
I'm  almost  superstitious,  for,  you  know,  a  fishing  trip 
was  the  very  proposition  I  had  in  my  own  mind  when  I 
spoke  to  you  before  lunch ;  only  I  was  slow  in  coming  to 
it.  What  made  you  suggest  it?" 

"Who  can  say,  Rho  ? — for  certainly  I  did  not  have  it 
in  my  thought  half  an  hour  ago.  Personality  is  a  deep 
ocean  and  full  of  mystery." 

"Mystery — rather,  a  shadow  land!  There  are  a 
dozen  puzzles  that  I  want  to  put  to  you — regular 
posers — and  the  north  woods  will  be  my  inning!  I  in- 
tend to  unreel  riddles,  Mr.  Preacher,  and  troll  for 
pickerel  at  the  same  time." 

"All  right,  Rho,  but  don't  forget  I've  a  few  reels  of 
my  own  to  unwind — just  to  punish  you,  old  fellow,  for 
not  coming  to  church." 

"Fine! — and  that  reminds  me  of  all  the  'collections' 
I've  been  missing  at  Old  First.  Here's  where  I  make 
good,  for  this  entire  trip  must  be  at  my  expense,  Dick." 

"Not  so  fast,  sir!  I'm  an  easy  mark,  but  not  quite 
as  easy  as  that!  Financing  the  church  and  fishing  for 
bass  are  quite  separate  accounts,  and  I  shall  not  permit 
financial  transfers — it's  another  name  for  embezzle- 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  61 

ment.  We'll  divide  the  cost  fifty-fifty,  and  charge  it 
as  straight  'fun'  without  any  religious  slant  to  it.  Let 
me  warn  you  against  oblique  finance,  Rho." 

For  the  least  fraction  of  a  second  a  startled  look 
leaped  into  Rhodin's  eyes ;  but  it  was  gone  again  before 
the  swiftest  camera  could  have  caught  it.  Indeed,  he 
was  himself  unconscious  of  it — as  though  a  silent  and 
mysterious  tenant  peered  suddenly  from  a  window  and 
as  suddenly  vanished.  His  frank  laughter,  ingenuous 
as  a  boy's,  was  sufficient  reward  for  his  friend's  rally- 
ing speech.  Richard  Locke  believed  in  the  gospel  of 
good  cheer  and  dispensed  it,  always. 

"I  say,  if  you're  as  clever  in  finance  as  you  are  in 
theology,  I'll  call  on  you.  I  need  expert  help  just  now 
in  my  own  personal  affairs." 

"At  your  service,  sir:  *R.  Locke,  Preacher  and  Ac- 
countant— Life  Records  Prepared  for  Audit — Office 
Hours,  A  Time  When  Ye  Think  Not — Charges,  All 
You've  Got!'" 

The  startled  flash  at  the  window  merged  again  into  a 
merry  glow  as  Rhodin  Curtis  caught  the  swift  badinage 
and  threw  it  back  with — 

"Great  advertising,  Dick!  You  may  have  my  per- 
sonal patronage  at  the  time  specified";  and  then  with 
droll  solemnity,  "I'm  to  pay,  I  suppose,  at  the  end  of 
the  audit." 

"Strictly  in  advance,  sir!  'Bills  Receivable'  are 
charged  as  bad  debts  and  thrown  out  of  the  account." 

"You  win  !     I'll  pay  in  advance — if  ever !" 

It  was  play — but  with  a  tense  underplay  that  both 
men  recognized.  Richard  Locke's  homiletic  skill  was 
not  reserved  for  the  pulpit. 


62        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Seriously,  Dick,  let's  get  our  trip  planned,  or  some- 
thing will  be  sure  to  crowd  it  over.  You  know,  I  was 
born  in  the  north  woods.  From  the  time  I  was  six 
years  old  I  trolled  and  angled  and  netted  in  all  those 
northern  lakes.  The  prospect  of  trolling  again  through 
Crooked  Lake  and  Crooked  River  has  fairly  taken  the 
crooked  temper  out  of  me!  Let's  start  to-morrow; 
Brooks  can  take  over  my  work  for  a  few  days.  Come 
along." 

"Impossible,  Rho,"  opening  his  pocket  date  book. 
"Our  next  Board  meeting,  and  a  critical  one  for  me,  will 
be  on  June  eleventh — two  weeks  from  to-night.  I've 
got  to  crowd  a  month's  work  into  the  next  fortnight. 
That's  why  I  must  have  a  week  in  the  woods !" 

"I  get  you," 

"I'll  prepare  my  Board  report,  with  special  Cente- 
nary recommendations,  while  we're  north — intend  to 
'try'  it  on  you  before  presenting  it  to  the  Board." 

"Poor  judgment,  Dick,  for  I  don't  favor  your 
Centenary  scheme." 

"That's  my  reason,"  with  a  straight  look. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Preacher,  I've  never  doubted  your 
sportsmanship,  even  when  you  lose." 

"I'll  not  lose,  Rho."     Then  he  went  on. 

"There  is  one  item  which  I  dare  not  neglect ;  you  see 
I've  acquired  the  reputation  of  being  a  'slacker'  in  or- 
dinary social  engagements.  Aunt  Kate  Winthrop 
gave  me  solemn  warning  at  breakfast  that  we  are 
booked  for  a  reception  to-morrow  evening  at  Doctor 
Janes's.  His  daughter  is  expected  home  from  India  and 
we  are  desired  to  meet  her." 

"Haven't  you  seen  Elizabeth  Janes  yet?" 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  63 

"No;  has  she  arrived?" 

"Reached  home  yesterday  morning.  Clara  and  I 
were  at  the  station,  with  her  father  and  Frank,  to  meet 
her." 

"You  know  her,  then?" 

"Well,  rather! — that  is,  Clara  does.  They  grew  up 
together  and  always  have  been  intimate  friends.  Eliza- 
beth was  bridesmaid  at  our  wedding,  six  years  ago — 
three  years  before  you  came.  It  caused  a  tremendous 
stir  in  their  set  when  she  became  a  missionary.  The 
old  Doctor  hardly  could  bear  it." 

"I  suppose  she's  like  her  father,  then." 

"Not  in  the  least — except  that  she'll  stand,  even  if 
she  stands  alone.  Clara  says  she  resembles  her  mother, 
who  died  when  Frank  and  Elizabeth  were  children. 
She  certainly  was  a  beautiful  girl." 

"  'Was' — which  means,  of  course,  that  she's  come 
back  tattooed  with  India  ink !  I'll  be  glad  to  meet  her, 
for  I  admire  any  girl  who  offers  herself  as  a  foreign 
missionary.  Broken  health  and  marred  looks  are  like 
a  soldier's  scars — marks  of  honor." 

"Well,  I  saw  her  for  only  a  moment  at  the  station, 
but  I've  a  vivid  impression  that  Elizabeth  Janes  will 
pass  muster — although  it  was  clear  enough  she's  not 
the  lightsome  girl  who  went  out  to  India." 

"The  Doctor  told  me  she  expected  to  serve  but  one 
term  on  the  field  and  is  coming  home  for  good.  He  was 
very  happy  over  it." 

"Yes,  that  was  the  plan  when  she  went  away;  but 
Frank  said  to  me,  while  we  were  waiting  for  the  train, 
that  his  sister  expects  to  return  next  year.  Her  father 
will  have  to  adjust  himself  to  the  situation." 


64        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Missions  is  warfare!  I  have  personal  memoranda 
of  more  than  three  hundred  missionaries  whom  I 
have  met,  so  I  must  get  busy  and  make  Miss  Janes's  ac- 
quaintance without  delay.  I've  been  a  student  of  mis- 
sions and  missionaries  ever  since  I  was  in  college." 

"You  certainly  will  find  Miss  Janes  an  interesting 
study — I  might  have  said  a  dangerous  study,  except 
that  Clara  told  me  last  night,  after  an  afternoon  at 
the  Doctor's,  that  she's  engaged  to  some  India  mis- 
sionary— confound  him!" — and  then,  as  Locke  eyed 
him  with  a  quizzical  look,  "I  might  as  well  confess, 
Richard,  that  I've  had  an  ulterior  interest  in  Eliza- 
beth's return;  she's  the  one  woman  I  had  selected  for 
Old  First  parsonage — and  now  my  one  ambition  for 
you  falls  like  a  house  of  cards." 

A  quick  red  flamed  up  in  the  minister's  cheek  and, 
receding,  left  a  momentary  pallor.  But  he  said  noth- 
ing, and  Rhodin  burst  out  petulantly: 

"Forgive  me,  Dick,  I've  as  much  delicacy  as  a  grizzly 
bear! — only  I  had  set  my  heart  on  a  great  happiness 
for  you,  and  every  plan  of  mine  goes  glimmering.  For- 
get it,  please ;  I'll  try  to  be  decent  even  if  I  must  remain 
stupid." 

"Didn't  I  say  that  every  room  in  the  house  is  wide 
open  to  you,  Rho?  I  am  sincerely  glad  for  your  gen- 
erous thought  of  me.  But  you  don't  understand  what 
it  means  to  be  struck  by  lightning !  I'm  as  dead  as  an 
old  stump — except  for  a  memory  that  grows  sweeter  as 
it  recedes  farther  into  a  dim  and  broken  past." 

"Richard  Locke,  you've  no  right  to  talk  like  that! 
You're  a  perfect  specimen  of  'our  manhood's  prime 
vigor' — see  how  my  Browning  sticks? — and  just  ready 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  65 

for  a  man's  establishment.  I  call  myself  young  at 
thirty-four  and  I'm  a  good  year  your  senior.  I  have 
been  confident  ever  since  I  came  to  know  you  that  your 
man's  duty  is  to  marry  again — O,  the  devil!  mission- 
aries always  were  a  bunch  of  sapheads;  I  wish  I  knew 
who  he  was !" 

As  Rhodin  brought  his  exhortation  to  this  grotesque 
conclusion  Richard  Locke  burst  into  repressed 
laughter,  so  genuine,  so  free  from  irritation,  that  his 
friend  could  not  resist  the  infection  of  it,  and  laughed 
with  him.  It  is  clean  sportsmanship  that  takes  no 
hurt  where  a  hurt  is  not  intended. 

"I'm  surely  grateful,  Rho,  that  you  are  the  languish- 
ing victim  of  this  romance,  and  not  I !  What  have  you 
been  reading? — positively  you  talk  like  'Jane  Eyre'! 
It  is  time  for  me  to  revise  your  courses,  my  friend. 
You'll  have  to  shun  fiction  and  get  back  to  finance." 

"O,  hang  finance ! — and  cut  out  comedy" — with  re- 
turning irritation.  "I  tell  you  I'm  ugly  to-day  and 
Elizabeth  Janes  is  the  smallest  part  of  my  trouble. 
Forget  me,  please,  and  talk  about  the  Boys'  Club." 

"All  right,  Rho,  only  I'm  glad  we're  going  away  for 
a  week.  I  didn't  get  half  a  vacation  last  summer,  and 
here  I  am  with  a  full  car,  a  rough  road  ahead  of  me — 
and  flat  tires!  I'm  going  to  loaf,  and  let  you  fish." 

"That's  the  way  I  loaf,  Dick,"  with  a  returning 
smile. 

"By  the  way,"  after  a  moment  of  silence,  "Tony 
Carrari  was  in  the  bank  yesterday  to  make  a  transfer 
of  his  savings  account.  He's  off  again  to  Camp 
Sherman  and  likely  to  be  in  France  within  thirty  days. 
He  says  he  hasn't  any  near  relations  and  wants  the 


66        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

church  to  have  his  money  in  case  anything  happens  to 
him.  Do  you  know  anything  about  it?" 

"I  know  all  about  it — in  fact,  that's  the  reason  I 
want  you  to  be  at  the  Club  to-night.  Tony  will  be 
there — doesn't  leave  till  to-morrow.  Twenty-three  of 
the  boys  are  now  in  khaki.  They  want  the  bank  to 
receive  a  tithe  of  their  pay  from  the  government  and 
apply  as  directed — afraid  they'll  miss  their  part  in 
Old  First  program  if  they  have  to  send  from  'Over 
There.'  " 

"Afraid  they'll  miss — you  certainly  have  been  feed- 
ing those  boys  some  strange  dope!" 

"Dope? — that's  the  one  thing  I've  been  able  to  keep 
from  them !  I  made  up  my  mind  three  years  ago  that 
there  should  be  at  least  one  group  related  to  the  church 
with  a  normal  and  natural  outlook,  and  that  bunch  of 
Italian  boys  gave  me  my  opportunity.  I've  planted, 
cultivated,  and  fairly  matured  a  crop  of  young  folks 
who  know  the  healthy  heart  of  religion,  without  cant 
or  artifice.  They  accept  life  as  a  stewardship. 
They're  what  I  call  normal  Christians — the  healthiest 
bunch  in  this  town !" 

"Do  you  tell  me  that  those  Italian  boys  actually 
tithe  their  petty  earnings  ?" 

"Every  lad  of  them — except  half  a  dozen  new  mem- 
bers ;  we  won't  let  the  boys  begin  tithing  until  they've 
taken  the  club  lessons  in  'Stewardship  Foundations,' 
and  that  requires  a  month  or  six  weeks.  Christian 
stewardship  is  a  life  business,  and  the  boys  are  entitled 
to  a  fair  start." 

"Richard  Locke,  you  may  be  the  prophet  of  a  new 
day — but  I'm  desperately  afraid  you'll  be  dead  and 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  67 

buried  before  ordinary  folks  understand  what  you're 
driving  at!" 

"That  doesn't  worry  me,"  with  quiet  emphasis ;  "the 
joy  of  it  is  knowing  that  your  foundations  won't  turn 
to  chalk  and  cheese  after  you're  gone!" 

Rhodin  Curtis  gazed  gloomily  across  the  table  and 
Locke  added — "The  fact  is  'ordinary  folks'  are  the 
only  ones  who  ever  will  understand  what  I'm  driving  at ! 
Stewardship  is  too  simple  for  the  highbrows  and  too 
straightforward  for  the  double-dealers.  Setting  apart 
a  portion  of  income  as  the  acknowledgment  of  God's 
ownership  never  troubles  'ordinary  folks' — unless  they 
stumble  over  dead  legalism.  Young  folks  accept  the 
principle  of  the  tithe  directly  they  understand  it. 
That's  why  I've  had  such  success  with  my  Italian  boys 
— they  didn't  have  to  unlearn  anything — just  ordinary 
kids,  and  keen  as  whips.  They  accept  God's  ownership 
as  the  beginning  of  religion,  and  they  acknowledge  it 
as  plain,  ordinary  honesty.  It  has  been  a  luxury  to 
lead  them." 

"Well,  Dick,  I'll  say  this  much:  financial  legalism 
never  bothers  a  banker;  he's  accustomed  to  acknowl- 
edging ownership." 

"Certainly  a  practical  banker  accepts  the  principles 
of  stewardship  almost  by  intuition." 

Richard  Locke's  face  was  full  of  eagerness,  but 
Rhodin's  gloomy  eyes  gave  back  no  answering  light. 
A  deep  suspiration  escaped  him,  quickly  covered  by  a 
frown  as  though  his  own  thoughts  were  hateful  to  him. 
Then  he  spoke. 

"Nevertheless,  I'm  afraid  that  ordinary  men,  bank- 
ers included,  will  part  company  with  you  at  the  crucial 


68        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

point,  and  that  your  Italian  boys  will  forget  the  entire 
business  when  they  recognize  it." 

"Let's  have  it,  Rho,  your  whole  honest  thought — for 
Old  First  Centenary  is  staked  on  the  Christian  in- 
terpretation of  property — and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  the 
future  of  Christianity  itself  is  tied  up  with  Christ's 
gospel  of  stewardship." 

"Then,  Dick,  I'll  have  to  put  it  to  you  straight! 
Ownership  of  property,  the  acknowledgment  of  it,  and 
this  whole  philosophy  of  yours  that  you  call  Steward- 
ship, implies  a  relation  between  two  persons — and 
that's  where  your  whole  statement  of  the  divine  owner- 
ship falls  to  the  ground,  at  least  as  far  as  the  ordinary 
man  is  concerned.  Not  one  man  in  fifty  believes  that 
God  is  a  'person,'  or,  if  he  does,  he  has  only  a  dim  and 
hazy  notion  of  what  he  means.  You  can't  do  business 
with  a  fog-bank!  Property  means  personality,  and 
you've  got  to  know  the  person  you're  dealing  with,  at 
that !  The  City  National  Bank  opens  no  account  with 
Joe  Brockman's  astral  body,  and  has  no  dealings  with 
Ed  Mulford's  spiritual  aura.  We  do  business  with 
folks,  not  phantoms!" 

Rhodin's  gloomy  eyes  blazed  like  a  furnace.  "O,  I 
know,"  he  drove  ahead,  "I  know  the  Christian  vocabu- 
lary of  property — 'The  earth  is  the  Lord's' — '/ 
brought  nothing  into  this  world' — 'It  is  He  that  giveth 
thee  power  to  get  wealth,'  and  the  rest  of  it.  I  do  not 
say  that  men  who  talk  that  way  are  insincere,  they 
simply  are  using  the  traditional  language  of  religion 
without  any  least  thought  of  interpreting  it  in  terms  of 
the  business  world.  Do  you  suppose  that  the  ordinary 
man,  when  he  draws  his  pay,  or  receives  his  salary,  has 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  69 

any  notion  that  he  is  using  the  property  of  another 
person?  Not  for  a  minute — not  one  in  a  thousand! 
No,  sir;  an  honest  man  just  takes  what  he  thinks 
honestly  belongs  to  him  and  does  the  best  he  can  with 
it.  If  he's  a  tightwad,  he'll  squeeze  every  dollar ;  if  he's 
open  handed,  he'll  loosen  up — but  in  any  case  he'll  do 
exactly  as  he  pleases.  He's  the  person  concerned,  and 
no  other!" 

Richard  Locke  sat  devouring  every  word,  as  a 
hungry  soldier  devours  an  unexpected  ration.  Rhodin 
plunged  forward : 

"What  you  say  regarding  the  tithe  is  absolutely 
sound — I  mean  from  a  banker's  standpoint.  Owner- 
ship must  be  acknowledged,  and  the  owner  tells  what 
the  acknowledgment  shall  be.  Acknowledgment  is 
what  a  banker  calls  the  acid  test  of  property — it  settles 
the  fundamental  question  of  title.  Every  banker  is 
familiar  with  that,  as  a  principle  of  finance,  and,  of 
course,  interest  and  rent  are  its  most  familiar  forms. 
So  I  say  again  your  position  is  absolutely  sound.  If 
God  is  the  Owner,  then  he  is  bound  to  name  his  own 
basis  of  acknowledgment.  So  far  as  I  ever  heard,  no 
one  questions  that  the  tenth  was  anciently  ordained — 
and,  I  reckon,  if  there  is  a  God  he  doesn't  change. 
Certainly,  Christ's  gospel  of  human  freedom  cannot 
alter  the  universal  ethics  of  property  and  property 
acknowledgment.  That's  all  clear  enough  to  any  busi- 
ness man.  Nevertheless,  Dick,  the  whole  thing  seems  to 
me  futile  and  useless — except  as  a  biblical  jack-in-the- 
box  for  cajoling  folks  into  supporting  the  church.  You 
see,  I'm  not  a  churchman  and  can  afford  to  talk! 

"The  trouble  is  at  the  very  heart  of  it — divine  per- 


70        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD 'FIRST 

sonality.  It's  like  beating  the  air!  It's  easy  enough 
to  use  a  sort  of  churchy  vocabulary  and  talk  of  divine 
ownership,  human  stewardship,  and  the  like,  but  these 
words  have  taken  on  a  new  set  of  meanings.  I  tell 
you  most  men  cannot  think  of  God  as  a  'person'  at  all. 
They  think  of  God — when  they  do  think,  which  isn't 
often! — as  an  ethical  ideal,  or  a  principle  of  truth,  or 
'something  up  there' — what  you  will — but  not  a  living 
person,  as  you  or  I  are  persons." 

Still  Richard  Locke  sat  eager,  leaning  across  the 
little  table,  while  the  furnace  fire  in  Rhodin's  eyes  died 
down  and  left  them  lusterless  and  dead. 

"I'm  a  detestable  crepe-hanger  to  talk  this  way, 
Dick,  for  honestly,  I  want  you  to  succeed.  But  you 
asked  for  it  straight  and  I've  given  it  to  you — straight 
as  a  die!  That's  why  I  cannot  be  with  you  in  your 
Centenary  scheme.  I'm  dead  sorry,  but  I'm  only  tell- 
ing you  what  other  men  ought  to  tell  you — some  of 
them  members  of  your  own  church — for  they  think 
about  it  exactly  as  I  do.  So  cut  out  the  Centenary 
stuff !  Preach  good,  cheery  sermons  without  any  'thus- 
saith-the-Lord' ;  it  annoys  folks.  Let  Old  First  put  up 
live  stunts  for  the  soldiers  and  do  the  base  running  for 
Red  Cross  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  batsmen — just  as  the  other 
churches  are  doing.  Our  present  business  is  to  win  the 
war,  and  after  that — well,  this  old  world  has  wagged 
on  for  some  thousands  of  years  and  will  continue  to 
wag  after  our  own  little  tales  have  wagged  to  their 
inevitable  finish." 

As  Rhodin  Curtis  tried  to  push  over  his  doleful  pun 
with  a  forced  smile,  he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the 
window  and  never  saw  how  the  eagerness  in  the  min- 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  71 

ister's  face  softened  into  a  look  of  ineffable  tenderness. 

"Rho" — there  was  a  vibrant  lift  in  Locke's  voice 
that  made  him  look  up — "I  thank  you  for  your  faith- 
fulness. I  wish  you  could  stand  in  Old  First  pulpit 
and  speak  those  words  again!  You  have  named  the 
heart  of  our  Centenary  message — God  a  glorious 
Person,  eternal,  immortal,  invisible,  yet  present,  inti- 
mate, and  real — and  the  whole  thrilling  message 
pointed  by  a  clear  understanding  of  the  nature 
of  personality  itself.  The  significance  of  human  per- 
sonality, and  therefore  of  human  brotherhood,  is  deeper 
than  we  yet  have  penetrated.  It  roots  in  God  himself. 
The  clew  to  it  is  property,  for,  just  as  you  have  said, 
property  means  personality.  To  acknowledge  the 
divine  ownership  will  mean  awareness  of  the  Owner.  It 
was  so  in  the  beginning.  It  ^always  must  be  so  while 
men  live  upon  the  earth.  Business  and  not  theology  is 
leading  the  revival  which  shall  sweep  our  generation." 

The  low  tones  of  the  minister's  voice  pulsed  with 
suppressed  feeling.  Rhodin  felt  the  thrill  of  it,  yet 
could  not  fathom  its  meaning — as  an  eagle  might  sense 
the  strange  throbbing  of  a  motor  car  upon  a  mountain 
road. 

"Come  to  our  Boys'  Club  to-night,"  he  added,  "and 
you'll  get  a  hint  of  what  I  mean — will  you,  Rho?" 

"Sure,  I'll  come,"  and  Rhodin  had  a  fleeting  sense  of 
gladness.  Then,  glancing  at  his  watch,  "I  must  get 
back  to  the  mill,  now;  war  finance  is  an  unmerciful 
weariness  to  the  fellow  who  feeds  the  machine — but  has 
no  share  in  the  grist  that  grinds  through." 

Richard  Locke  looked  at  him.  "No  share  in  the 
grist !"  he  repeated ;  "why,  it's  common  knowledge  that 


72        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

the  City  National  is  increasing  its  resources  every 
month.  It  was  only  yesterday  I  was  reading  the  re- 
port of  the  directors,  showing  the  ratio  of  increase  dur- 
ing the  last  five  years.  Are  you  sure  you're  not  romanc- 
ing again,  Rho?" 

The  glint  of  steel  leaped  into  Rhodin's  eyes,  a  look 
that  Locke  never  had  seen  there  before.  "Perhaps  it 
has  not  occurred  to  you,"  with  a  touch  of  irony  in  his 
voice,  "that  a  corner  grocery  might  be  doing  a  pros- 
perous business  while  the  delivery  boy  wasn't  carrying 
home  enough  wages  to  pay  the  rent." 

"O,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  tell  me  that!  Surely  the 
City  National  deals  generously  with  its  own  officers." 

"I've  nothing  to  complain  of;  the  directors  have 
treated  me  as  well  as  I  deserve,  and  better.  The 
trouble  is — the  delivery  boy  is  paying  too  much  rent ! — 
wants  to  live  in  a  big  house  on  the  boulevard  when  he 
ought  to  be  content  with  modest  lodgings  near  the 
mill,"  and  Rhodin  glanced  whimsically  at  his  friend, 
who  hardly  knew  how  to  take  him. 

"Certainly  you  live  in  comfort,  Rho,  as  you're  en- 
titled to ;  and,  if  you'll  permit  me  to  say  it,  your  home 
on  Park  Road  is  like  an  exquisite  cameo.  But  no  one 
ever  would  accuse  you  of  extravagance — except  in  the 
purchase  of  rare  first  editions,  which  I'm  wicked  enough 
to  covet!" 

Rhodin  enjoyed  his  friend's  confusion  for  a  moment, 
and  then  added — 

"No,  I  don't  mean  personal  and  house  expenditure, 
though,"  with  a  slight  shrug,  "I'm  frank  to  say  it's 
costing  us  too  much  to  live.  But  I  mean  certain  ven- 
tures of  which  Clara  has  no  knowledge.  The  fact  is 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  73 

I've  been  trying  my  luck  with  a  'war  bride'  or  two,  and 
finding  it  rather  a  worrisome  business." 

"Oho,  that's  the  lay,  is  it?  Where  are  you  inter- 
ested?" 

"A  turn  or  two  in  Chicago  wheat,  but  mostly  Co- 
ordinated Copper." 

"I  don't  know  about  the  wheat,  Rho.  Government 
is  likely  to  take  a  hand  there,  but  you  can't  lose  on  the 
other — that  is,  if  you  got  in  on  any  reasonable  basis. 
Even  an  impecunious  preacher  can  tell  a  good  thing 
when  he  sees  it.  Copper  is  bound  to  push  upward  as 
long  as  the  war  lasts,  and  longer.  You  needn't  let 
Coordinated  Copper  worry  you." 

"O,  copper  will  push  upward — that's  a  dead  cer- 
tainty; and  I'm  in  all  right  with  Coordinated,  if  I'm 
able  to  hold  on !  The  mischief  is  there's  a  falling  mar- 
ket ;  it  simply  will  not  turn.  The  increased  demand  for 
copper  products  is  not  permitted  to  have  its  legitimate 
effect  on  stock.  I've  covered  my  margins  three  times 
in  four  months,  with  a  total  loss  to  date  of  three 
thousand  dollars." 

"Too  bad!" 

"Oh,  I  intend  to  hold  on — I'm  not  a  quitter !  More- 
over I  had  a  straight  tip  this  morning  from  a  friend 
of  mine  in  Wall  Street.  I  haven't  yet  decided  what 
I'll  do — but  maybe  the  delivery  boy  will  carry  home 
some  big  wages  one  of  these  days." 

As  the  two  friends  arose  from  the  table  and  moved 
down  the  corridor  Rhodin  lighted  another  cigar. 

"Hold  steady,  Rho.  Your  financial  judgment  has 
meant  much  to  the  business  development  of  this  city; 
it  won't  desert  you  now." 


74        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"That's  my  trouble,  Richard,"  in  a  low  voice  as  they 
approached  the  lobby.  "I  don't  seem  to  show  as  good 
judgment  in  managing  my  own  affairs  as  I  do  the 
affairs  of  other  men." 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you,"  in  the  same  low  voice,  but 
penetrating  by  its  very  intensity,  "that  in  the  one  case 
you  are  conscious  of  stewardship  and  in  the  other  case 
you  are  not?" 

Rhodin  Curtis  looked  at  him  intently.  "But,  Dick" 
— and  then,  as  they  reached  the  lobby — "No  matter, 
forget  about  it!  ...  I  suppose  the  club  meets  in  the 
same  place — over  that  plumber's  shop." 

"Same  place." 

"All  right.  I'll  be  there  at  eight.  Shall  I  call  for 
you  with  the  car?" 

"No,  I'm  to  be  there  at  seven ;  have  to  meet  the  begin- 
ners in  stewardship.  But  you  may  drop  'round  for 
McRae,  if  you  will,  and  bring  him  with  you.  He's  tak- 
ing dinner  with  me  at  the  parsonage.  He  wants  to  meet 
our  Club  Volunteers." 

"Fine ! — I  like  Mac.     I  hear  he's  going  to  France." 

"Yes ;  he  handed  in  his  resignation  a  month  ago  and 
is  waiting  for  his  appointment  to  be  confirmed — goes 
as  chaplain  in  the  Expeditionary  Forces.  He's  been 
pulling  me  pretty  hard,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Then  you'll  be  wanting  to  get  home ;  wait  a  minute 
and  I'll  drive  you." 

"No,  I  must  have  a  word  with  the  secretary  here  and 
then  put  in  two  hours  at  the  church  office.  Miss  Cop- 
ley is  losing  all  patience — says  she  can't  get  my  desk 
clean  in  a  month.  I've  a  notion  to  bring  back  the  old 
'roll-top'  just  to  take  the  worry  from  her  face." 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  75 

"A  'church  expert'  with  a  roll-top  desk? — Dick, 
you're  degenerating!" 

As  he  moved  toward  the  elevator  Rhodin  cast  an 
imaginary  line,  and  looked  back  laughing.  "  'Truce  to 
his  restless  thoughts' !"  he  quoted.  "Here's  to  Crooked 
River  and  our  first  two-pound  pickerel!"  Richard 
Locke  stood  for  a  moment  with  a  look  in  his  face  of 
mingled  perplexity  and  gladness. 

Ten  minues  later  he  left  the  secretary's  office  by  way 
of  the  reading  room,  and  thence  made  his  way  to  a  more 
convenient  elevator  near  the  tea  room.  A  young  lady 
immediately  in  front  of  him  was  moving  toward  the 
grilled  door  of  the  elevator  shaft,  which  they  reached 
together  just  as  the  porter  swung  open  the  cage.  The 
minister,  bowing  slightly,  waited  for  her  to  enter.  She 
hesitated  and  glanced  across  the  corridor.  Then,  ad- 
dressing the  porter — 

"Would  you  mind  holding  the  car? — only  a 
moment?" 

"I'm  never  in  a  hurry,  miss;  we've  passed  the  rush 
hour,  so  jus'  take  your  time — if  Dr.  Locke  don't  mind." 
The  porter's  smile  was  large  and  benevolent. 

"It  always  is  a  service,  madam,  when  Americans  are 
required  to  pause  and  take  breath."  The  minister  of 
Old  First  was  not  "a  ladies'  man";  some  said  that  he 
avoided  them.  But  courtesy  was  born  in  him,  and,  his 
Aunt  Kate  Winthrop  said,  he  had  a  "way"  with  him. 
His  speech  was  answered  with  a  smile  and  a  frank 
straightforward  look. 

"Thank  you;  my  father  is  just  inside  the  tea  room 
and  will  be  here  directly." 


76        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

If  Richard  Locke  had  not  been  wholly  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts  he  would  have  recognized  that  the 
answer  and  the  bow  were  the  half-friendly,  half-formal 
response  of  acquaintanceship,  as  of  one,  at  least,  who 
might  have  known  him.  But  he  was  perplexed,  dis- 
turbed, irritated.  Rhodin's  words  at  the  lunch  table 
kept  repeating  themselves  in  the  back  part  of  his  mind 
— "a  great  happiness  for  you" — "ready  for  a  man's 
establishment."  .  .  .  He  drew  himself  up  with  an  im- 
patient throwing  back  of  his  head  and  a  very  evident 
frown  on  his  face. 

His  companion,  with  a  slight  touch  of  embarrass- 
ment, glanced  again  toward  the  tea  room.  "I'm  so 
sorry  to  detain  you — it  must  be  quite  vexing — please 
do  not  wait  any  longer,"  she  said. 

The  minister  flushed.  "I  assure  you,  madam,  you 
were  not  in  my  thought" — and  then,  flushing  still  deep- 
er as  he  realized  the  brusqueness  of  his  remark,  "I  mean 
you  were  in  no  way  connected  with  a  passing  thought." 
Then,  recovering  himself,  with  a  somewhat  forced  at- 
tempt at  pleasantry,  "You  see,  ministers  are  not 
always  considerate." 

"Nor  missionaries,  either,  Dr.  Locke." 

Then  he  looked  at  her.  Ten  minutes  afterward, 
when  he  tried  to  recall  her  appearance,  he  could  remem- 
ber nothing  but  small  brown  oxfords  underneath  a 
modish  skirt  and  dark  brown  eyes — they  would  be  black 
under  mazda  lights — laughing  up  at  him. 

"A  missionary?  I  do  not  ...  I  mean  .  .  .  you 
seem  to  have  the  advantage  of  me,"  he  said  with  genial 
greeting.  At  least  those  were  the  actual  words  that  he 
enunciated.  But  his  mental  ejaculation  was  positively 


AT  THE  COMMERCIAL  CLUB  77 

pugnacious — "What's  the  matter  with  you,  man? 
Can't  you  talk  without  chattering!" — and  his  speaking 
face  responded  to  the  inward  thought. 

The  brown  eyes  ceased  laughing  and  looked  at  him 
with  quietness.  "That  need  not  surprise  you;  min- 
isters are  public  characters,  you  know.  It  was  only 
yesterday  that  I  .  .  .  O,  I'm  glad  you've  come, 
father,"  as  Dr  Janes  emerged  from  the  tea  room.  "I've 
been  disarranging  Dr.  Locke's  program." 

The  gray-haired  physician,  bowing,  turned  to  the 
minister  with  old-fashioned  courtesy.  "I  am  sorry  if 
I  have  detained  you,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
know  that  already  you  have  made  Elizabeth's  acquaint- 
ance." 

"Yes,  we  were  just  .  .  .  that  is  ...  I  certainly  am 
glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Janes,"  and  Richard  Locke  be- 
came aware  of  an  extended  hand  which  he  grasped 
cordially.  But  all  that  he  noticed  was — the  gloves 
matched  the  oxfords  perfectly,  and  the  brown  eyes 
were  laughing  again. 


CHAPTER  VII 
MEXICAN  PETROLEUM 

RHODIN  CURTIS  was  at  his  desk,  shortly  before 
two  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Gilbert  stopped  and  spoke 
to  him. 

"Will  that  loan  to  King  and  Kennedy  run  us  a  little 
short  this  month,  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"No.  Kennedy  phoned  me  a  few  minutes  ago  that 
they  do  not  wish  to  take  the  loan  until  Saturday. 
That  will  be  the  first  of  the  month,  and  over  three 
hundred  thousand  of  good  paper  will  be  in.  We  can 
handle  eighty-five  thousand  for  King  and  Kennedy  with 
entire  comfort." 

"Will  you  make  it  for  ninety  days,  as  Kennedy 
desired?" 

"Certainly,  with  the  expectation  of  renewing  part  of 
it  for  another  sixty.  I  have  given  Brooks  instructions 
to  have  the  note  ready  for  Mr.  Kennedy's  signature  on 
Saturday  morning,  and  to  pass  the  credit  to  King  and 
Kennedy's  account.  I'll  not  be  here ;  Dr.  Locke  and  I 
are  taking  a  few  days  in  the  north  woods  before  the 
hot  weather  begins." 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  have  a  good  time,  but  don't  be 
gone  for  more  than  a  week.  This  last  German  drive 
is  making  a  ticklish  market  and  we'll  need  to  watch 
things." 

"Have  you  noted  the  late  quotations  on  'Mexican 
Petroleum'?" 

78 


MEXICAN  PETROLEUM  79 

"Rather !"  Then  the  president  of  the  City  National 
leaned  a  little  nearer  Rhodin.  "I've  wired  Rockway 
and  Company  to  sell  fifty  thousand  ordinary  Penn- 
sylvania on  my  personal  account  and  put  it  into  that 
stock.  If  our  charter  permitted  the  buying  of  foreign 
securities,  I'd  make  a  five  hundred  thousand  dollar  in- 
vestment for  the  bank  without  a  minute's  hesitation. 
That's  my  faith  in  Mexican  Petroleum !"  and  President 
Gilbert  passed  into  his  private  office. 

Rhodin  smiled  knowingly  and  picked  up  a  letter, 
marked  "Personal,"  that  was  lying  on  his  desk.  He 
had  read  it  twice  already.  It  was  from  Passmore,  his 
former  chief  at  the  Detroit  commission  house  and  now 
cashier  of  Rockway  and  Company.  It  was  hardly  a 
"business  letter,"  but  rather  a  friendly  gossip. 

NEW  YORK,  May  25,  1918. 
MY  DEAR  CUBTIS: 

You  asked  me  to  put  you  next  to  a  sure  thing  when  it  came 
along.  Well,  it's  here  and  it's  name  is  'Mex.  Pete.'  If  you  have 
any  doubt  about  it,  what  do  you  think  of  this? — your  conservative 
president  at  the  City  National  has  just  wired  us  to  rip  out  a  fifty 
thousand  block  of  rock-bottom  Pennsylvania  and  put  it  into  the 
light  and  airy!  He  says  he  keenly  regrets  that  he  is  not  able  to 
make  an  investment  of  bank  securities,  but  does  this  on  his  own 
personal  account.  And  he's  dead  right  too!  I  didn't  know  that 
Gilbert  could  see  so  far  ahead ;  most  conservatives  are  near-sighted ! 
They  are  leery  of  Mex.  Pete  because  of  the  Huerta  regime  and 
our  own  government's  dilatory  tactics  in  the  Mexican  mix-up. 
But,  all  the  same,  the  value  is  there! — we've  investigated  it  to  the 
last  peso.  And  now  is  the  time  to  go  in.  That's  not  a  "tip,"  that's 
a  dead  certainty — if  your  eyes  are  not  full  of  the  dust  stirred  up 
by  the  present  German  drive.  The  market  is  hovering  at  93.  It 
has  moved  up  steadily  since  January,  when  it  stood  at  79.  I  don't 
see  how  it  can  drop  from  the  present  figure.  But  even  if  it  should, 
Mex.  Pete  will  begin  to  soar  as  soon  as  Foch  turns  the  trick  north- 
east of  Paris.  The  "bears"  say  he  can't  do  it  (pessimism  is  their 
stock  in  trade!).  They  say  the  whole  thing  will  end  in  German 


80        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

victory,  or,  just  as  bad,  a  negotiated  peace.  In  that  case,  of  course, 
I  wouldn't  care  to  handle  Mex.  Pete  or  any  other  security  that  Ger- 
man "kultur"  is  likely  to  smirch. 

But  I  figure  it  like  this — is  Uncle  Sam  in  this  war  or  is  he  not? 
If  America  has  lost  her  punch,  then  it's  all  up  with  Mex.  Pete! 
But  if  America  and  the  Allies  can  handle  the  situation  in  France, 
then  you'll  see  Mex  Pete  take  the  aeroplane  route  to  the  sky.  Me 
for  Uncle  Sam!  I'm  ready  to  gamble  my  last  dollar  on  the  pro- 
gram put  up  (at  last !)  by  the  administration  at  Washington.  I've 
gone  the  limit  myself,  and  want  my  friends  to  get  in  with  me.  If 
you  think  I'm  seeing  double,  ask  Gilbert.  No  one  ever  accused 
him  of  enthusiasm.  My  advice  is  just  this:  Sell  your  coat — your 
shoes — and  go  the  limit !  I  can  protect  you  for  ten  days  to  the 
tune  of  one  thousand  shares,  and  can  get  you  in  on  a  margin  of 
20  per  cent.  Better  make  it  an  even  twenty  thousand  to  cover 
emergencies.  Wire  Saturday  without  fail  if  O.  K. 

Yours  truly, 

E.  H.  PASSMOBE. 


Rhodin  frowned  and  bit  his  pencil.  Every  dollar  of 
his  available  funds  was  locked  up  in  Coordinated 
Copper.  It  was  sure  but  it  was  slow,  and  no  ready 
market  without  sacrifice.  Gilbert's  enthusiasm  and 
Passmore's  letter  confirmed  his  own  solid  judgment. 
For  three  months  he  had  been  confident  that  Mexican 
Petroleum  would  mean  millions  to  farsighted  investors. 
But  where  could  he  find  twenty  thousand  dollars — 
unless —  The  dark  brows  knit  together.  "I'll  do  it !" 
he  muttered,  inwardly.  "I've  always  been  opposed  to 
mortgaging  the  home,  but  this  is  different ;  I  owe  it  to 
Clara  and  the  boy,  even  if  they  take  the  risk  with  me. 
Carberry  values  the  place  at  forty  thousand,  and  it 
will  carry  sixty  per  cent  without  a  scratch.  He's 
offered  it  twice  now  within  four  months.  I  don't  in- 
tend to  saw  wood  all  my  life !"  and  his  jaw  set. 

He    lifted    his    desk    receiver.     "'Market'    2848 — 


MEXICAN  PETROLEUM  81 

Please  give  me  Mr.  Carberry — Mr.  Carberry? — Mr. 
Curtis  speaking,  City  National — I  would  be  glad  for 
you  to  step  over  to  the  bank  at  your  convenience — I 
think  I'll  put  over  that  matter  you  suggested — Yes, 
the  property  on  Park  Road — all  right,  three  o'clock 
will  do— Thanks." 

Then  Rhodin  sent  a  wire.  It  was  not  yet  two  o'clock 
and  Wall  Street  would  be  doing  business  for  another 
hour,  counting  the  difference  in  time. 

E.  H.  Passmore 

With  Rockway  and  Company 

New  York 

Proposition  accepted.    Margin  named  will  be  covered  in  time 
specified. 

R.  CUHTIS. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
KHAKI  AND  CLOTH 

"^lAPITANO!    CAPITANO!" 

^-/  Miss  Copley  turned  swiftly.  She  had  just 
stepped  from  the  city  pavement  and  was  entering  the 
vestry  of  Old  First.  The  business  offices  of  the  church 
were  entered  from  the  north  side  of  the  ivy-grown 
tower,  the  door  of  which  stood  hospitably  open. 

"Capitano!" 

The  voice  of  the  boy  shrilled  out  again  and  Miss 
Copley  looked  inquiringly  toward  the  tall  officer  who 
stood  beside  her  on  the  tower  steps.  But  Captain 
Janes  seemed  wholly  unconcerned,  and  kept  his  eyes  on 
the  mobile  face  of  his  companion. 

"Soldiers  don't  yell  at  their  officers,  Nicola;  they 
salute  them."  The  tall  officer  spoke  indeed,  but  he  did 
not  notice  the  red-faced  boy  at  all;  he  was  studying  a 
wisp  of  amber  that  clung  coyly  underneath  Miss  Cop- 
ley's right  ear. 

Instantly  a  pair  of  muddy  heels  struck  together,  the 
diminutive  shoulders  of  the  Boy  Scout  straightened, 
and  a  grimy  hand  touched  the  boyish  military  hat  in  a 
perspiring  salute. 

Miss  Copley  clapped  her  hands  and  smiled  raptur- 
ously. The  boy  gazed  up  at  her,  framed  in  the  ivied 
doorway  of  the  old  church,  and  could  think  of  nothing 
but  a  breathing  Madonna.  Captain  Janes,  who  never 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  88 

had  been  in  Italy,  had  thoughts  of  his  own.  However, 
he  seemed  wholly  to  approve  the  devotional  look  in  the 
eyes  of  the  boy  and  returned  his  salute  with  soldierly 
precision. 

"What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me,  Nicola?"  he  in- 
quired, kindly. 

"Dr.  Locke  he  tell-it  me — "  began  the  boy  with  an- 
other salute. 

"Yes,  what  did  Dr.  Locke  tell  you,  my  boy?"  The 
officer  was  smiling  now,  for  his  eyes  glanced  over  the 
boy's  head  and  encountered  that  identical  gentleman 
himself  hastening  toward  the  church  from  the  direction 
of  the  Commercial  Club,  and  not  fifty  feet  distant. 

"Dr.  Locke  he  tell-it  me  will  Capitano  please  come-a 
da  Club  to-night,  eight  off  d'  clock." 

"And  what  do  you  learn  at  the  Club,  Nicola?"  The 
Boy  Scout  stood  at  attention  while  the  minister  of  Old 
First  paused  not  five  feet  behind  him. 

"Dr.  Locke  he  learn-it  me:  hate-a  da  lie,  love-a  da 
flag,  an'  " — the  musical  voice  dropped  to  a  note  of 
wondering  reverence — "know-a  d'  God." 

"Bravo,  Nicola!" 

The  boy  whirled  in  astonishment,  and  once  more  the 
grimy  hand  touched  the  hat  rim  in  respectful  salute. 

"It  pays,  Frank,  it  pays !"  Richard  Locke  grasped 
the  tall  officer's  hand  heartily  and  lifted  his  hat  to  Miss 
Copley — "and  Nicola  Campo  is  one  of  our  latest 
recruits!"  Then  turning  to  the  boy: 

"Where  have  you  been,  Nicola?" 

"Ah,  Pastore,  me  no  find  Capitano — heem  notta 
King  Ken',  not  house,  not  Miss  Heuss' — find  him  just-a 
now — church." 


84        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Miss  Copley  had  vanished  into  the  vestry  and  Cap- 
tain Janes  volunteered  no  comment. 

"All  right,  Nicola,  you  may  go  now;  be  on  time  to- 
night. You  have  done  very  well  indeed." 

"Grazia!" 

Grazia — Grace — is  there  more  gentle  speech  than 
this  to  say  "I  thank  you"?  An  Englishman's  muffled 
"Q'u"  gives  forth  a  foggy  impression  that  he  is 
courteous  at  heart  but  hates  the  bother  of  expressing 
it.  A  Frenchman's  brisk  "Remerciements"  is  habitual 
but  quite  too  like  the  small  change  of  a  conversational 
cash  register.  But  an  Italian's  soft-spoken,  full- 
voweled  "Grazia"  will  bring  the  softness  of  southern 
skies  to  the  bleakest  tenement;  there  is  unconscious 
Christian  depth  to  it. 

The  boy  in  khaki  stiffened  in  a  parting  salute  and 
clicked  with  soldier  steps  across  the  pavement.  The 
minister  turned  to  the  officer  beside  him. 

"When  do  you  join  your  company,  Frank?" 

"I  return  to  camp  on  Saturday,  but  the  various 
units  are  still  in  the  air.  There's  no  telling  just  what 
will  happen — except  we're  likely  to  sail  almost  any 
day;  that  much  seems  certain." 

"I  would  envy  you,  if  I  dared." 

"Don't  say  it,  Dr.  Locke!  The  nearer  I  get  to 
actual  military  service — it  has  been  nothing  so  far  but 
a  ragged  'get  ready' — the  more  I  am  convinced  that 
men  like  you  are  transforming  this  war  from  a  scrap 
into  a  sacrament." 

Richard  Locke  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  him  in- 
tently. 

"We  think  we  know  what  we're  fighting  for,"  he 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  85 

continued,  "and  I  suppose  we  do.  But  it's  one  thing 
to  wave  the  flag  and  talk  brave  words  about  democracy, 
and  quite  another  to  interpret  democracy  so  that  the 
people  can  realize  the  foundation  of  it.  Little  Nicola 
is  learning  what  the  rest  of  us  hardly  understand,  and" 
— with  sudden  emphasis — "we've  got  to  get  hold  of  it !" 

"You  hearten  me  immensely." 

"I  intend  to !  Miss  Copley  has  been  telling  me  some- 
thing of  your  Centenary  program,  and  I  can  well  un- 
derstand why  you  are  having  difficulty  in  putting  it 
over.  I  almost  wish,"  glancing  through  the  vestry 
door,  "that  I  were  staying  home  to  help  lift.  I  think 
it's  great !" 

"I  honestly  believe  that  you've  lifted  a  ton  in  two 
minutes — and  I  surely  am  grateful  to  Miss  Copley  for 
her  splendid  cooperation." 

"You  can  count  on  that,  Dr.  Locke;  Miss  Copley  is 
enthusiastic  over  'the  Centenary  at  Old  First' ;  she  has 
been  pumping  me  full  of  it  for  an  hour. 

"No  wonder  Nicola  couldn't  find  you!"  laughing. 
"By  the  way,  I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
sister  a  few  minutes  ago;  she  was  at  the  Commercial 
Club  with  your  father." 

"So  you  have  met  Elizabeth ! — and  father  introduced 
you — I'm  glad  of  that." 

"But  I'm  not  so  sure!"  laughing  again.  "I'm 
puzzling  myself  to  know  whether  it  was  your  father 
who  introduced  me  or  not!  However,  I  feel  comfort- 
ably certain  that  I  have  made  your  sister's  acquaint- 
ance, and  that  is  quite  sufficient." 

"Well,  no  one  but  Elizabeth  could  have  made  me  ask 
leave  from  camp  at  this  time,"  and  Captain  Janes's  eyes 


86       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

wandered  again  into  the  quiet  vestry.  Then,  glancing 
at  his  wrist-watch,  "I  must  be  going  now — you'll  be  at 
the  house  to-morrow  night,  of  course." 

"Yes,  and  hope  to  drop  in  for  a  greeting  beforehand ; 
I  shall  be  leaving  town  Thursday.  You'll  not  overlook 
Nicola's  message  for  to-night?" 

"I'll  be  there." 

"I'm  glad  of  that ;  the  boys  are  going  to  make  a  vital 
proposition" — and  then  as  the  two  men  separated,  and 
the  tall  young  officer  squared  himself  on  the  lower  step 
— "I've  one  grievance,  Frank,  against  Uncle  Sam." 

"What's  that?" 

"He  won't  let  preachers  put  on  khaki  unless  they're 
with  the  colors !"  and  Richard  Locke  disappeared  into 
his  study. 

Five  minutes  afterward  Miss  Copley  had  taken  her 
seat  opposite  the  minister  of  Old  First.  A  square  office 
desk,  piled  with  papers,  stretched  between  them.  Miss 
Miller,  clerk  and  stenographer,  sharpened  her  pencils 
at  a  side  table. 

"Did  we  finish  the  survey  of  the  fourth  ward,  Miss 
Copley?" 

"Not  quite,  but  I  suggest  that  we  take  up  these  re- 
ports from  the  twelfth.  There  has  been  unusual  inter- 
est in  the  Italian  quarter  and  I  would  like  to  get  all  our 
facts  collated.  The  fourth  can  wait." 

"Right ! — move  where  there's  movement !" 

"My  reaction  to  that,  Dr.  Locke,  is  just  this:  in- 
tensive cultivation  is  more  economical,  more  thorough, 
and  therefore  more  successful  than  loose  extension 
possibly  can  be." 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  87 

Richard  Locke  pursed  his  lips  together,  but  he 
answered  sedately: 

"Curious,  Miss  Copley,  isn't  it? — the  missionary  in- 
stinct is  to  spread  while  the  teaching  instinct  is  to  dig; 
both  of  them,  I  reckon,  must  be  included  in  any  forward 
program  of  Christianity." 

"Well,  I  say  dig,  Dr.  Locke !" 

The  minister's  laugh  rang  out  merrily.  "It's  a  wise 
leader  who  knows  where  to  place  the  emphasis.  How- 
ever, one  thing  is  sure — we'll  make  no  mistake  if  we 
complete  our  survey  of  the  twelfth.  Most  of  our  data 
is  in  hand  and  we  can  begin  at  once.  Will  you  please 
take  some  preliminary  notes,  Miss  Miller?  .  .  .  There 
it  goes  again!  I  wish  someone  would  write  a  booklet 
on  'The  Ethics  of  the  Telephone.5  .  .  .  Thank  you, 
Miss  Copley,  for  answering." 

The  telephone  ceased  its  clamor  and  Miss  Copley 
took  down  the  receiver.  A  smile  dimpled  her  face  and 
Richard  Locke  waited.  He  was  watching  her. 

"It's  cousin  Craig,"  she  said.  "He'll  be  here  prompt- 
ly at  five,  and  says  you're  to  have  on  your  'seven  league 
boots.'  " 

"Which  means  that  he  intends  to  drag  me  forth  on 
his  famous  'war  constitutional'  before  dinner.  All 
right,  we  can  cover  four  blocks  of  the  twelfth  before  he 
gets  here.  .  .  .  Now,  if  you  please,  Miss  Miller." 

Rose  Copley  had  one  pet  aversion.  She  called  it  her 
bete  noire — for  during  her  first  year  out  of  college  Miss 
Copley  never  used  a  simple  word  if  a  complex  one  would 
express  her  meaning.  Moreover,  if  Miss  Copley  could 
choose  between  an  English  word  and  its  French  equiva- 


88        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

lent,  invariably  she  would  choose  the  French.  Formerly 
she  would  have  preferred  the  German,  but  that  was 
before  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania. 

Miss  Copley's  pet  aversion  was  her  name — not  the 
high-bred  surname,  which  was  her  constant  comfort, 
but  the  diminutive  Rose — "just  as  though  I  were  a 
pudgy  flower  girl,"  she  complained. 

"Educated  people  ought  to  have  the  privilege  of 
choosing  their  own  names,"  she  insisted  at  a  family 
gathering  of  uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins,  to  celebrate  her 
coming  of  age,  "and  not  be  compelled  to  carry  a  misfit 
that  has  been  wished  upon  them.  'Margaret'  would 
have  suited  me  entirely,  'Priscilla'  always  has  dignity, 
and  'Catherine  Copley'  would  have  been  perfectly 
adorable!  But  'Rose' — it  makes  me  feel  like  a  Bo- 
hemian gypsy  girl  rather  than  an  American  college 
woman" —  and  then  Craig  McRae,  who  was  her  favor- 
ite cousin,  laughed  immoderately  and  began: 

"Pretty  Rose    .    .    .    charming  Rose    .    .    . 
I'm  in  love  with  my  Rosalie!" 

which  offended  her  highly. 

Nothing  ever  was  finer  than  the  quiet  poise  with 
which  Miss  Copley  had  adjusted  herself  to  the  pitiful 
wrecking  of  her  illusions.  After  taking  her  Master's 
degree — psychology  was  her  major — she  had  spent  one 
year  as  tutor  in  a  girls'  academy.  Her  dream  was  a 
doctorate  from  a  German  university  and  a  college  pro- 
fessorship. Staunchly  she  had  stood  up  for  Ger- 
many's right  to  national  expansion — and  to  world- 
empire,  too,  if  she  could  achieve  it.  England  had  be- 
come far  too  supercilious! 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  89 

Then  came  the  unspeakable  murder  in  Saint  George's 
Channel.  When  it  was  announced  that  hundreds  of 
civilians  had  gone  down  with  the  Lusitania,  many  of 
them  women  and  children,  she  insisted  that  it  must  have 
been  an  accident.  When  the  facts  became  known, 
proving  premeditated  attack,  she  tried  to  justify  it 
by  Hindenburg's  laconic  "War  is  war!" — but  the 
words  choked  her  fair  round  throat  and  would  not 
come. 

Finally,  when  with  burning  cheeks  she  read  of  public 
rejoicing  in  German  cities,  imperial  decorations  for  the 
commander  of  the  submarine,  and,  last  of  all,  bronze 
medals  to  commemorate  the  infamy,  then  her  woman's 
instinct  prevailed  against  her  heart's  desire  and  the 
German  dream  passed  into  the  sad  country  of  "broken 
things."  She  did  not  talk  about  it — her  hurt  was  far 
too  deep — she  simply  lifted  the  German  ideal  from  its 
secret  niche  in  her  thought  and  left  the  place  of  it 
empty  and  void. 

The  perplexing  part  came  afterward:  her  ambition 
to  become  a  teacher  passed  out  of  her  life.  It  was  as 
though  a  rude  hand  had  despoiled  a  beautiful  picture 
— she  did  not  try  to  repair  it — she  removed  it  from  the 
wall. 

"It's  the  woman  in  you,"  said  her  cousin  Craig. 

"Now  a  man  thinks  of  his  career  as  more  or  less  of 
a  'job,'  "  he  continued,  "and  his  professional  degree 
as  a  tool  to  work  with.  So,  every  second  professional 
man,  if  he  can  afford  the  time  and  the  expense,  will 
manage  to  secure  some  sort  of  post-graduate  title.  If 
the  easy  Berlin  market  is  closed,  he  finds  a  satisfactory 
product  near  at  hand — finds,  indeed,  that  he  has  been 


90        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

overlooking  a  superior  article  at  his  very  doors.  He 
secures  it,  paying  for  it  in  time  and  study  about  one 
third  its  supposed  value,  and  proceeds  to  pound  at  his 
job. 

"But  a  woman  is  married  to  her  career.  Her  pro- 
fessional diploma  is  like  a  wedding  ring.  If  it  is  with- 
held, she  feels  that  some  shadow  is  impending,  while  to 
change  it  for  'another'  is  a  species  of  disloyalty.  So 
cheer  up,  Rose,"  Craig  went  on,  heartily.  "It's  better 
to  find  out  that  you're  a  splendid  woman  than  to  get  a 
'Ph.D.'  and  teach  psychology." 

"But  I  must  do  something,  Craig,"  Rose  answered, 
disconsolately.  "I  can't  sit  down  and  wait  for  some 
Prince  Charming  to  come  along  and  say  delightful 
things  to  me !" 

"He'll  come,  Rose.  .  .  .  Meantime,  this  is  my 
scheme  for  you :  take  a  year  of  practical  training  at  the 
South  Side  Settlement — I  can  arrange  it  for  you — and 
after  that  something's  bound  to  turn  up.  You're  more 
'missionary'  than  'schoolma'am,'  anyway!" 

And  so  it  proved.  At  the  end  of  six  months  her 
cousin  received  this  exhilarating  letter: 

"I've  made  two  discoveries,  Craig.  Psychology  must 
be  mastered  in  actual  field  work  rather  than  from  text- 
books, and  I  myself  react  more  easily  to  the  child  and 
adolescent  mind  than  I  do  to  the  adult.  I  am  sure  I 
would  succeed  as  'social  work  secretary'  in  a  city 
church,  a  'downtown'  church,  of  course.  If  you  weren't 
smothered  in  that  rich  and  respectable  suburb,  I  would 
come  to  you,  just  for  a  try-out.  If  you  hear  of  some 
opening  please  let  me  know." 

Then  it  was  that  Craig  McRae  laid  a  deep  and  sub- 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  91 

tie  plot.  "You've  simply  got  to  manage  them,"  he  said 
to  his  wife,  "and  manage  them,  of  course,  without  their 
knowing  it.  Both  of  them  are  blooded  thoroughbreds ; 
they'll  shy  at  a  feather."  Then  he  proceeded. 

"Rose  is  a  perfectly  glorious  woman  with  a  heart  of 
gold.  In  plain  American  speech  she  loves  children  and 
young  folks,  and  they  can't  help  loving  her — and  that's 
exactly  what  she  means  by  her  seven- jointed  psycho- 
logical reaction  to  the  child  and  adolescent  mind !  But 
I  daren't  tell  her  so;  she  thinks  I  want  her  to  get 
married — which  I  do! — and  she'll  run  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

"As  for  Dickens  Locke,  he's  a  perfect  paradox! — 
unbending  as  a  shot-tower  and  sensitive  as  the  hair 
spring  of  a  watch !  I  expected  he  would  take  a  sensible 
view  and  let  me  talk  to  him,  but  he's  as  elusive  as  ever. 
The  minute  I  come  within  sight  of  marriage  he  vanishes 
into  thin  air.  Both  of  them  are  equally  impossible 
when  it  comes  to  looking  after  their  own  welfare.  I'll 
have  to  manage  this  entire  business  for  them — and  take 
their  gratitude  afterward." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Miss  Rose  Copley  entered 
upon  her  duties  as  social  work  secretary  at  Old  First 
some  six  months  before  the  events  recorded  in  these 
pages.  Craig  McRae  was  a  full  year  in  bringing  it  to 
pass,  yet  his  subtle  diplomacy  could  not  be  discerned  at 
any  point.  He  had  the  name  of  being  a  church  poli- 
tician, had  Dr.  McRae — which  he  hotly  resented. 

"The  church  needs  practical  builders  and  engineers," 
he  said,  "to  keep  the  high-browed  statesmen  from  plung- 
ing us  over  the  embankment ;  I'm  an  engineer" — which 
is  a  dark  saying,  and  needs  explaining. 


92        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

When  the  South  Side  Settlement  invited  Mr.  Frank 
Janes,  junior  partner  of  King  and  Kennedy,  to  serve 
on  its  Board  of  Trustees  (that  was  before  our  declara- 
tion of  war,  when  the  aforesaid  junior  partner  had  no 
thought  of  entering  the  army),  Dr.  McRae,  pastor  of 
the  important  suburban  church  at  L ,  and  chair- 
man of  the  Settlement  Committee,  was  congratulated 
on  making  such  a  strong  nomination.  And  when  Mr. 
Frank  Janes  accepted  the  nomination,  and  made  him- 
self acquainted  with  the  work  of  the  Settlement,  it  was 
natural  that  he  should  become  interested. 

That  Mr.  Frank  Janes  should  greatly  covet  a 
"social"  program  for  his  own  church,  and  should  find 
the  minister  of  Old  First  already  committed  to  it,  may 
be  taken  as  a  logical  development.  And  when  the  new 
trustee  proceeded  to  interest  the  wealthy  Mrs.  Heustis, 
constant  in  good  works,  and  drove  her  to  the  Settle- 
ment on  several  visits  of  personal  inspection,  this  is 
merely  a  further  proof  of  his  clear-headed  executive 
ability.  In  all  of  this  Dr.  Craig  McRae  gave  open 
encouragement. 

But  when  winsome  Rose  Copley,  already  called 
"little  mother"  at  the  Settlement,  captured  completely 
the  gentle  heart  of  Mrs.  Heustis,  and  when  Old  First 
Board  accepted  Mrs.  Heustis's  offer  and  invited  Miss 
Copley  to  the  position  of  social  work  secretary,  then 
the  wily  McRae  spoke  dubiously  and  suggested  to  his 
cousin  that  perhaps  she  would  have  better  opportunity 
in  one  of  the  cities  "farther  east." 

The  inevitable  result  followed.  Richard  Locke  was 
in  duty  bound  to  care  for  the  needs  of  his  own  parish, 
and  could  not  permit  Mrs.  Heustis's  offer  to  lapse. 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  93 

Therefore  he  lost  no  time  in  convincing  Miss  Copley 
that  Old  First  was  ready  to  provide  exceptional  oppor- 
tunity for  the  development  of  children's  work,  Miss 
Copley's  own  strong  specialty.  To  the  invitation  of 
the  Board  the  pastor  added  his  own  powers  of  per- 
sonal persuasion — and  in  this  Richard  Locke  was  not  a 
novice. 

When  he  learned  that  Craig  McRae  was  standing  in 
the  way  of  his  cousin's  appointment,  he  promptly  called 
that  reverend  gentleman  upon  the  carpet  and  proceeded 
to  puncture  his  objections  in  vigorous  and  not  too 
clerical  English.  But  all  he  received  for  his  brusque- 
ness  was  a  stiff  rejoinder,  and  the  grudging  conces- 
sion that — Rose  might  do  as  she  pleased — he  would 
not  oppose  her.  The  janitor  of  Old  First  never  under- 
stood why  that  day  the  dignified  minister  at  L 

bestowed  upon  him  a  solemn  wink  as  he  left  the  church, 
and  Dr.  Craig  McRae  did  not  enlighten  him. 

Within  a  month  the  new  social  work  secretary  was 
introduced  to  Old  First  congregation,  and  Mrs.  Heustis 
had  taken  Rose  Copley,  glowing  and  confident,  under 
her  own  complete  protection. 

"You  are  to  be  my  other  daughter,"  she  said,  "to 
take  Clara's  room  for  your  very  own,  and  to  make  this 
house  your  home." 

Craig  McRae  was  in  high  spirits. 

"It's  better  than  making  love  myself,"  he  said  to  his 
wife  laughing,  "for  there  hasn't  been  a  hitch  from  start 
to  finish." 

"But  you  haven't  seen  the  'finish,'  Craig;  'the  best 
laid  plans  of  mice  and  men' — remember  I" 

"Nonsense,  Maggie!     The  thing  can't  fail,  unless 


94       THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

human  nature  itself  takes  a  complete  somersault! 
Dickens  Locke  is  slow,  but  he's  a  man,  every  ounce  of 
him.  He  feels  in  honor  bound  to  give  Rose  every  op- 
portunity— and  he'll  do  it.  I  know  him  of  old.  More- 
over, he'll  want  her  to  succeed  for  the  sake  of  the  parish 
itself,  for  Rose  certainly  is  a  genius  with  young  folks. 
Don't  you  see  what  follows  ?" 

"I'm  listening" — which  is  the  more  remarkable  when 
it  is  known  that  Mrs.  McRae  seldom  did  that  thing. 

"They'll  be  thrown  together  constantly  in  congenial 
work,  'play-work'  you  might  call  it,  with  similar  tastes 
and  the  same  ideals — and  both  of  them  attractive, 
single-minded,  and  human !  Dickens  is  fond  of  deep 
water,  no  doubt,  and  loves  to  sail  alone;  but  I'll  wait 
for  six  months  and  then  hail  him.  I  promise  you  a 
pair  of  gloves  that  he'll  be  sighting  another  ship !" 

"All  right,  Craig;  mauve,  please." 

At  one  minute  before  five  Craig  McRae,  in  the  field 
uniform  of  an  army  chaplain,  swung  up  the  tower  steps 
of  Old  First  and  pushed  unceremoniously  through  the 
vestry  door. 

"Craig!" 

"Mac!" 

The  exclamations  burst  simultaneously  from  Rose 
Copley  and  Richard  Locke,  while  a  diminutive  "O!" 
escaped  the  lips  of  Miss  Miller. 

"It's  perfectly  gorgeous,  Mac!  When  did  you  get 
it?" 

"I've  had  the  uniform  for  three  weeks,  but  didn't 
dare  get  into  it  until  my  appointment  was  confirmed 
from  divisional  headquarters.  The  official  letter 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  95 

reached  me  on  the  two  o'clock  delivery,  and  I  was 
togged  out  in  full  array  within  fifteen  minutes !  Will 
I  pass,  Rose?" 

"I  just  love  khaki!"  was  the  enigmatical  reply  of 
Miss  Copley  as  she  gathered  up  her  papers  from  the 
desk. 

The  two  men  struck  into  a  swinging  stride  as  they 
left  the  church,  turned  from  Main  into  High  street, 
then  took  the  Circular  Park  Road  toward  the  suburbs. 

"We'll  have  to  make  the  short  circuit  this  time,  Mac. 
It's  already  ten  after  five,  and  I  must  be  at  the  Boys' 
Club  at  seven — with  a  bite  of  dinner  somewhere  inter- 
vening." 

"That's  all  arranged,  Dickens;  Curtis  phoned  me 
that  he  would  pick  us  both  up  at  ten  minutes  before 
seven,  and  Miss  Winthrop  phoned  that  dinner  would 
be  served  at  five  minutes  past  six,  on  the  dot.  That 
gives  us  full  fifty  minutes  for  a  three-mile  turn — mere 
sauntering." 

"It's  just  like  Curtis,"  was  the  spirited  reply;  "he 
never  considers  his  own  convenience  when  he  thinks  he 
can  render  a  service.  He  wasn't  intending  to  turn 
up  until  eight." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  but  he  told  me  over  the 
'phone  that  he  was  curious  to  sample  the  'dope'  you 
were  feeding  to  those  Italian  boys,  and  wanted  to  drop 
in  at  your  seven  o'clock  meeting." 

Richard  Locke  struck  his  stick  upon  the  pavement 
exultingly.  "I  tell  you,  Mac,  Rho  Curtis  is  a  man! 
I've  never  yet  known  him  to  dodge  an  issue ;  all  he  wants 
is  the  facts,  and  he's  ready  with  his  judgment — sound, 


96        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

sober,  and  far-seeing.  We  were  talking  of  this  matter 
to-day  at  lunch,  and  here  he  is,  without  another  word, 
gathering  up  his  facts.  What  makes  me  sick  at  heart 
is  that  the  facts  don't  seem  to  appeal  to  him.  He  is 
plainly  interested,  and  yet,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  he's  as 
removed  from  the  church  as  ever." 

College  friendships  are  in  a  class  by  themselves.  The 
comradeship  which  bound  Richard  Locke  to  Craig 
McRae  was  wholly  different  from  that  which  cemented 
him  to  Rhodin  Curtis.  With  the  latter  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  deep  and  passionate  fellowship,  yet  he  never 
would  have  thought  of  asking  him  for  the  name  of  his 
tailor.  The  peculiar  intimacies  of  campus,  class  room, 
and  "dorm"  come  only  once. 

The  two  friends  had  reached  South  Park,  and  were 
walking  with  somewhat  slackened  pace  along  a  foot- 
path beside  the  lake,  when  Richard  Locke  looked 
quizzically  at  McRae. 

"I  say,  Mac,  your  officer's  outfit  turns  me  quite  green 
with  envy!  I'll  have  to  climb  into  it  just  to  get  the 
'feel'  of  it." 

"You  ought  to  climb  into  a  uniform  of  your  own !  I 
tell  you,  Dickens,  you're  making  the  mistake  of  your 
life.  Old  First  pulpit,  or  any  other  American  pulpit 
these  days,  is  a  poor  place  for  a  preacher  with  red 
blood  in  him." 

It  was  a  body  blow,  and  Richard  Locke  winced  under 
it.  His  lips  pressed  close  together,  but  he  said  nothing. 
The  words  of  Captain  Frank  Janes  came  back  to  him — 
"Men  like  you  are  transforming  this  war  from  a  scrap 
into  a  sacrament." 

The  close-fitting  uniform  of  Chaplain  McRae  gave 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  97 

him  even  more  than  his  usual  assurance,  a  quality  in 
which  he  was  by  no  means  deficient.  He  continued: 

"It's  the  business  of  a  preacher  to  follow  the  flag!" 

"You  mean  it's  his  business  to  lead,  Mac." 

Craig  McRae  was  keen.  In  college  he  had  taken 
"high"  grades  for  brilliant  scholarship,  while  Richard 
Locke,  except  in  philosophy,  never  had  risen  above 
"fair."  It  was  his  intuitive  ability  to  see  to  the  heart 
of  things  that  gave  to  the  latter  his  place  of  spiritual 
leadership.  That  was  the  reason  the  quick  glancing 
eyes  beneath  the  officer's  cap  were  now  turned  full  on 
him. 

"Of  course,  Dickens,  that  goes  without  saying,"  he 
answered. 

Richard  Locke  blazed.  "Exactly — 'that  goes  with- 
out saying !'  We  preachers  constantly  assume  that  the 
great  fundamentals  can  be  taken  for  granted,  as  though 
they  did  not  need  fresh  and  living  statement,  a  new 
statement,  in  every  generation.  What  is  this  war  it- 
self but  the  tragedy  of  the  unspoken  truth  ?  Following 
the  flag  is  a  pitiful  substitute  for  preaching  the  blood- 
red  heart  of  it!" 

College  friendships  know  how  to  take  as  well  as  give, 
and  it  was  Craig  McRae  now  who  felt  the  drive  of 
Locke's  counter  blow.  But  he  took  it  standing.  He 
spoke  with  strength. 

"You  score,  old  fellow!  I  admit  the  charge.  But, 
after  all,  you're  simply  saying  that  preachers  for  a 
generation  have  been  fussing  over  evolution,  and  verbal 
inspiration,  and  higher  criticism,  and  have  left  un- 
plumbed  the  depths  of  judgment  and  mercy  and  faith. 
There  surely  has  been  a  dearth  of  prophets  in  our  day." 


98        THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

The  gravel  crunched  underneath  their  feet  as  the  two 
friends  rounded  the  head  of  the  lake  and  turned  for  the 
homeward  stretch. 

"What  gets  me,  Dickens,  is  how  to  meet  the  present 
issue.  It's  too  late  to  reconstruct  the  tragic  facts. 
The  war  is  here.  As  a  minister  of  Christ  my  business 
now  is  to  keep  close  to  the  brave  fellows  who  will  go 
'over  the  top,'  and  go  over  the  top  with  them  if  I  can." 

"Have  you  said  it  all,  Mac?" 

"So  far  as  I  know,  yes." 

"Are  you  sure  you're  not  dodging  the  real  issue  ?" 

"Dodging? — what  do  you  mean?" 

" Just  this :  Has  the  church  itself  no  place  of  leader- 
ship? Has  the  preacher  no  commanding  message  for 
brave  men  and  women  who  never  will  see  the  fields  of 
France  or  Flanders?  Ministers,  there  must  be  for  the 
thousands  'over  there,'  but  who  shall  lift  up  the  voice  of 
prophecy  for  the  millions  'over  here'  ?  My  heart  leaps 
to  go  with  you  to  the  trenches — I'm  young,  unmarried, 
unimpeded — but,  Mac,  forgive  me,  it  seems  to  me  like 
running  away  from  God's  fiercest  battle  front." 

A  slow  red  pushed  itself  above  the  khaki  collar  and 
tinged  McRae's  neck  and  cheeks. 

"Dickens,  I'll  say  to  you  what  I  wouldn't  admit  to 
another  mortal,  what  I've  hardly  admitted  to  myself — 
I've  got  to  go  to  the  trenches  to  keep  from  falling 
down!  I've  reached  the  end  of  my  tether  at  L ." 

"Mac!" 

"I'm  giving  you  the  straight  truth !  When  I'm  with 
the  boys  at  camp  I  can  pour  out  every  ounce  that's  in 
me.  I  give  them  nothing  but  the  commonest  old  stuff 
— loyalty,  purity,  truth — but  it  gets  across.  The 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  99 

fellows  like  it,  and,  as  for  me,  I  know  that  I'm  preaching 
a  man's  free  gospel  to  free  men.  I  breathe  deep  and 
hold  my  head  high.  But  I  never  enter  my  own  pulpit 
without  feeling  a  lid  clamped  down  on  brain  and  heart." 

Richard  Locke  had  taken  his  friend's  arm  as  they 
moved  down  the  path  together.  McRae  went  on : 

"The  only  sermons  that  seem  to  get  anywhere  in  my 
own  pulpit  are  my  so-called  war  sermons,  and  these 
could  be  packed  into  two  capsules  warranted  to  go 
down  any  American  throat — *Die  for  Democracy'  and 
'Damn  the  Dutch' !  That's  the  popular  stuff  right 
now.  You  can  preach  it  by  the  yard  without  disturb- 
ing anybody's  prejudices,  nor  even  scratching  any- 
body's gray  matter.  But  no  preacher  can  feed  a 
church  on  junk  like  that — that  is,  for  steady  diet.  I 
tell  you  I'm  at  the  finish!  I've  gone  through  every 
sermon  I've  got,  reviewed  my  old  lecture  notes,  and 
cluttered  my  table  with  every  book  of  the  past  ten 
years  that  seemed  to  promise  anything  at  all.  But  my 
own  stuff  is  a  despair  to  me  and  everything  else  I've 
struck  is  either  stale  or  superficial.  I'm  going  to  the 
trenches  to  find  some  message  that  doesn't  sound  like 
pebbles  rattling  in  a  drum !" 

"That's  why  I'm  staying  home,  Mac." 

"Yes,  and  that's  why  you've  been  an  amazement  to 
me !  I  know  there's  not  a  yellow  streak  in  you,  and  yet 
you've  been  willing  to  stick  here  and — " 

"Shame  the  Cavalier  and  Puritan  fighting  stock 
that's  in  my  blood!  Say  it,  Mac,  that's  what  you 
mean !" 

"No,  I  won't  say  it — only  I  wish  I  could  fathom 
what's  in  your  mind." 


100      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"I  wish  I  could  fathom  it  myself !  All  I  can  say  is 
I'm  getting  glimpses  of  a  message  that  thrills  me.  It's 
a  new  dispensation,  it  seems  to  me,  of  the  same  old 
blessed  gospel.  This  much  I  know:  The  war  has  un- 
covered superficiality  and  men  are  demanding  founda- 
tion facts.  It's  true  in  politics  and  business,  and  it's 
bound  to  be  true  in  religion.  That's  why  your  war 
sermons  'get  across.'  They  may  be  fleshed  with  bunk, 
but  the  bones  of  them  are  honest  stuff  which  the  people 
understand.  You  can't  fool  Americans — in  church  or 
out!  They  know  what  gets  to  them." 

Richard  Locke  stopped  short  on  the  gravel  walk 
and  gripped  McRae's  shoulder.  His  voice  was  vibrant 
as  he  continued  speaking. 

"I  know  exactly  what  you  mean  when  you  feel  a  lid 
clamped  down  on  you.  I  feel  it  often  myself,  and,  I 
tell  you,  Mac,  we  are  the  ones  to  blame!  We  don't 
interpret  the  people  to  themselves.  They  are  in  heroic 
mood  and  ready  for  high  daring.  We  give  them  'war,' 
and  they're  with  us  heart  and  soul ;  then  we  drop  back 
into  platitudes  and  they  are  bored  to  death.  No 
wonder  we  feel  the  'lid'!  It's  reflex  action,  nothing 
more.  We  are  stupid  enough  to  lay  a  covering  of  com- 
monplace over  a  blazing  fire  and  the  smudge  of  it  falls 
on  preacher  and  people  alike." 

"But  it's  the  same  thing,  Dickens,  when  I  give  them 
'Democracy'  and  the  rest  of  our  war  talk — good  stuff 
too !  It  doesn't  seem  to  go.  Nothing  gets  across  but 
bayonets  and  blood,  and  there's  simply  no  sense  in  it. 
So  I'm  going  where  I  can  get  a  'near  up'  of  both  of  them 
and  maybe  I'll  discover  what  it  is  the  people  like." 

"Why,  Mac,  don't  you  see  it  already?     When  we 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  101 

lift  up  democracy,  or  flay  the  Germans,  and  think  that 
this  is  what  the  people  like,  we  simply  fool  ourselves  and 
mystify  them.  We  don't  reach  the  basal  facts  at  all. 
The  thing  that  really  thrills  them  is  the  heart  of 
Christ's  gospel,  which,  all  unconsciously,  we  are  preach- 
ing— a  stewardship  committed  unto  them  and  threat- 
ened by  a  cunning  and  powerful  enemy.  They're  ready 
to  go  through  hell-fire  to  protect  their  trust!" 

"What  trust  can  they  have  in  mind  unless  it's  pointed 
out  to  them?" 

"Any  trust — it  doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference !  As 
a  nation,  just  now,  it's  democracy.  To  the  individual 
it  may  be  anything  at  all — money,  property,  position, 
influence,  education.  It's  the  fact  of  stewardship  that 
thrills  them  and  not  some  particular  administration  of 
it.  Duty  becomes  a  dull  routine  without  the  flaming 
glory  that  lies  back  of  it !  It  isn't  democracy  that  men 
will  die  for,  but  the  trust  committed  unto  them-  They 
have  died  in  other  centuries  for  the  king  who  had  en- 
trusted to  them  his  honor.  The  guardianship  of  a 
trust — any  trust — will  redeem  a  soul  from  hell. 
Stewardship,  wherever  you  find  it,  is  the  human  side  of 
God's  eternal  gospel." 

"By  your  own  words,  then,  you  ought  to  be  in  the 
trenches !  The  boys  over  there  are  ready  to  suffer  for 
the  trust  committed  to  them." 

"Just  so  the  folks  at  home!  It's  the  same  spirit 
'over  here'  that  the  boys  have  'over  there.'  In  fact 
they  took  it  with  them — that's  why  they  went.  But 
the  folks  held  here  at  home,  who  want  to  go  but  can't, 
do  not  realize  that  they  too  are  at  the  center  of  the  fight 
— that  the  same  heroic  stewardship  is  demanded  here 


102      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

as  there ;  that  spiritual  world-issues  are  to  be  fought  to 
a  finish  right  here  in  American  society.  It  is  the  one 
message  that  will  give  the  church  victorious  leadership 
in  this  hour  of  human  need." 

"Stewardship?" 

"Stewardship." 

The  men  resumed  their  swinging  stride  down  the  edge 
of  the  lake.  Both  were  engrossed  in  thought.  Pres- 
ently Craig  McRae  spoke  again. 

"That's  a  great  message,  Dickens,  but  it  can  be 
preached  after  the  war  as  well  as  now." 

"Wrong!  It's  a  war  gospel  and  must  be  preached 
while  the  people  are  awake  to  the  high  meaning  of 
consecration." 

"So  that's  the  reason  you're  sticking  at  Old  First 
when  you  might  be  in  France  to-day." 

"It's  just  this,  Mac:  If  Old  First  Centenary  is  able 
to  put  that  message  over  in  this  city,  it  will  be  the 
opportunity  of  a  lifetime,  and,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
the  biggest  war  contribution  that  I  can  ever  hope  to 
make." 

For  five  minutes  not  another  word  was  spoken.  The 
men  had  left  the  Park  by  the  east  gate  and  were  now 
once  more  upon  the  city  pavement,  nearing  the  end  of 
their  vigorous  "constitutional."  The  spring  and  glow 
of  perfect  health  were  in  them  both. 

"That  was  great  work,  Mac ;  it  still  lacks  ten  minutes 
of  six.  We'll  have  time  for  a  cold  'shower'  before 
dinner." 

"Let  the  shower  go  this  time,  Dickens,  and  slow 
<Jown  a  little.  I  want  to  say  something." 

They  dropped  into  an  easy  walk  and  turned  into  the 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  103 

quiet  court  where  Old  First  parsonage  still  stood  in 
the  midst  of  the  city. 

"How  long  have  we  been  friends,  Dickens?" 

Richard  Locke  looked  into  the  strong  face  beside  him 
— "Fifteen  years,  Mac,  and  then  some.  Why?" 

"Long  enough  to  give  me  something  of  a  friend's 
right,  at  least  the  right  to  ask  a  question — don't  you 
think?" 

"Go  to  it,  old  fellow!  I'll  answer  any  conundrum 
that  you  care  to  put  to  me — that  is,  if  I  can.  But 
don't  expect  me  to  tell  you  what  I  don't  know  myself !" 

"Perhaps  that's  the  reason  you  vanish  into  deep 
water  whenever  I  approach  a  certain  well-known  topic." 

"O,  what's  the  use,  Mac !"  with  a  slight  touch  of  irri- 
tation. "I  know  well  enough  what  you  have  in  mind, 
and  I  tell  you  I'm  keeping  nothing  from  you.  What 
more  can  I  say?" 

"You  can  answer  a  straight  question." 

"All  right,  drive  ahead." 

"Have  you  had  any  thought  of  marriage? — that's 
my  question,  and  I  think  I'm  entitled  to  a  friend's  frank 
answer." 

For  a  moment  Richard  Locke  had  a  sense  of  resent- 
ment and  the  close-pressed  lips  became  a  trifle  tense. 

"I  can't  make  up  an  answer  just  to  humor  you,"  he 
replied,  testily. 

"And  I  wont  take  a  'made  up'  answer,"  was  McRae's 
half -angry  retort.  "Surely,  you  can  say  whether  or 
not  some  ship  has  come  within  hailing  distance,  can't 
you?" 

Richard  Locke  had  long  since  sensed  his  friend's  de- 
sire ;  how  could  he  otherwise  ?  Moreover,  no  sane  man 


104      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

could  meet  Rose  Copley  day  after  day  and  be  unmind- 
ful of  her  charm  and  sweetness.  More  than  once  he 
had  found  himself  looking  at  her  with  this  unanswered 
question  in  his  mind,  Could  he  come  to  care  for  her? — 
and  this  companion  query,  much  more  to  the  point: 
Would  she  be  honored  and  glad  if  it  were  so? 

Yes,  the  thought  of  marriage  had  come  to  him,  but 
how  could  he  with  any  truthfulness  affirm  that  Rose 
Copley  had  come  "within  hailing  distance"  ?  That  very 
afternoon  he  had  caught  a  look  in  Frank  Janes's  face 
that  made  him  glad  for  both  of  them.  He  dared  not 
say,  even  to  himself,  that  he  would  some  day  care  for 
her — certainly  not  if  loyalty  and  friendship  were  to  be 
cast  into  the  other  balance.  And  yet  the  honest  desire 
of  Craig  McRae  could  not  lightly  be  turned  aside.  He 
simply  would  not  answer  him,  at  least  not  now.  Time 
and  circumstance  would  show  the  way  out. 

"Well,  what's  the  word,  Dickens? — is  there  any  ship 
in  sight  ?"  and  McRae  laid  an  affectionate  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  as  they  paused  at  the  parsonage  steps. 

And  then,  just  then,  Richard  Locke  thought  he  saw 
an  escape  from  his  friend's  close  importunity. 

"A  phantom  ship,  Mac?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

Brown  eyes  were  laughing  up  at  him,  and  small  brown 
oxfords  were  peeping  out  from  under  a  modish  skirt, 
while  back  in  the  shadow  Rhodin  Curtis  was  glowering 
like  an  angry  furnace  and  muttering,  "O,  the  devil!  I 
wish  I  knew  who  he  was !" 

"If  I  should  say  I'd  seen  a  phantom  ship,  would  that 
satisfy  you,  old  man?" — not  caring  what  he  said,  or, 
rather,  caring  very  much  lest  he  should  seem  to  say 
anything  at  all ! 


KHAKI  AND  CLOTH  105 

And  Craig  McRae  looked  into  his  laughing  eyes,  and 
laughing  answered  him. 

"Perfectly,  Dickens — for  the  present !" 

An  army  uniform  covers  a  multitude  of  bothers. 
Chaplain  McRae  was  dressed  in  less  than  three  minutes. 
When  Locke  came  down  stairs  five  minutes  later  McRae 
was  sitting  at  the  telephone  in  the  library. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  home  to-night  after  the  club  meeting. 
.  .  .  All  right  .  .  .  Shall  I  buy  your  gloves  in  the 
morning,  or  will  you  get  them?  .  .  .  No,  gloves!  .  .  . 
g-1-o-v-e-s — the  mauve  pair  I  promised  you  six  months 
ago;  don't  you  remember?  .  .  .  Sure!  just  as  I  told 
you!  .  .  .  Good-by!" — and  McRae  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver, laughing. 

Locke  was  looking  at  him  quizzically.  "Does  Mrs. 
McRae  let  you  buy  her  gloves,  Mac?" 

"On  special  occasons,  Dickens." 


CHAPTER  IX 
CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH 

WHEN  Miss  Winthrop  announced  that  dinner 
would  be  served  at  five  minutes  past  six,  "on  the 
dot,"  Richard  Locke  knew  that  at  exactly  four  minutes 
past  six  his  straight  standing  New  England  aunt  would 
lay  aside  her  knitting  and  move  toward  the  dining  room. 
It  was  worth  the  speeding  up  of  towel  and  brush  to  meet 
her  in  the  living  room  and  lead  her  to  her  place  at  the 
head  of  her  well-appointed  dinner  table. 

Miss  Winthrop's  housekeeping  was  like  her  religion 
— strictly  orthodox.  If  it  was  a  bit  angular  and  un- 
bending, it  certainly  was  straightforward  and  honest. 
If  at  times  the  minister  of  Old  First  grew  restless  under 
his  aunt's  exact  regime,  he  constantly  was  grateful  for 
her  watchful  care  of  the  parsonage. 

"  'Ten  minutes  to  seven'  is  what  Mr.  Curtis  said, 
Richard,"  remarked  Miss  Winthrop,  as  her  nephew  ad- 
justed her  chair  comfortably  for  her.  Then,  after 
Grace,  "I  hope  you  and  our  new  *chaplain'  had  a 
pleasant  stroll." 

"Stroll !"  answered  Craig  McRae,  laughing.  "Dickens 
never  learned  that  ancient  art ;  his  long  stride  and  lofty 
speech  kept  me  on  a  keen  stretch  for  fifty  minutes." 

"I'm  afraid  both  of  you  prefer  the  strenuous  life," 
continued  the  gentle  spinster.  "You  should  learn  to 

106 


CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH   107 

choose  quiet  walks  and  restful  themes  after  a  hard  day." 
She  smiled  across  the  table. 

"Well,  we  did  slow  down  at  the  end,  Miss  Winthrop 
— strolled  into  the  parsonage  court  like  wistful  lovers, 
talking  of  'ships  at  sea.'  Dickens  told  a  painful  yarn 
— all  about  a  'phantom  ship'  that  he  thinks  he  must 
have  seen  somewhere.  He  was  dreaming  in  his  study, 
most  likely,  when  he  should  have  been  hard  at  work," 
and  Chaplain  McRae  applied  himself  assiduously  to  his 
dinner  with  grave  eyes  resting  upon  his  plate.  But 
there  was  a  faint  flicker. 

Miss  Winthrop  glanced  quickly  across  at  her  nephew. 
"Craig's  new  uniform  has  lifted  him,  Aunt  Kate,"  he 
said. 

"But,  Richard,"  began  his  aunt,  looking  at  him  in- 
quiringly. "I  don't  quite "  Then  she  sat  up  stiffly, 

while  a  pink  glow  touched  both  her  smooth  cheeks.  "I 
think  you  will  enjoy  some  of  this  currant  jelly,  Mr. 
McRae,"  she  said,  quietly. 

It  was  an  early  dinner  on  Park  Road.  Rhodin 
Curtis  had  phoned  Clara  that  he  would  like  to  leave  the 
house  soon  after  six-thirty,  as  he  had  an  engagement  at 
seven  o'clock.  It  was  now  scarcely  quarter  past,  and 
Bergith  already  was  bringing  in  a  wide  silver  tray  with 
the  dessert. 

Clara  Curtis  looked  at  the  rich  amber  in  the  crystal 
bowl  and  waited  for  Bergith  to  fetch  a  silver  jug  filled 
to  the  mouth  with  creamy  custard.  Then  she  smiled. 

"I  want  you  to  realize  the  hardships  of  India  mis- 
sionaries," she  said. 

Rhodin  watched  her  with  solemn  mien.     "I've  heard 


108      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

of  the  'gold  of  Ophir,'  Clara,  so  cut  glass  and  solid 
silver  must  be  a  mere  circumstance  in  the  luxurious 
mission  bungalows  of  the  East." 

"Have  you  no  eyes  for  hidden  treasure?  Red  baked 
clay  would  be  a  dish  fit  to  set  before  a  king  if  it  con- 
tained richness  such  as  this!  Taste  it!" — and  Clara 
raised  a  tempting  spoonful  to  her  lips. 

There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  rapt  silence,  and  then, 
"I  think  I  could  endure  another  term  of  missionary 
hardship — with  an  extra  portion  of  cold  custard, 
please,  to  alleviate  the  suffering.  Where  did  you  dis- 
cover this  particular  form  of  punishment  ?" 

"Isn't  it  delicious,  Rho? — and  so  simple  and  whole- 
some! Elizabeth  says  it  is  their  favorite  dessert  in 
North  India,  and  so  inexpensive  that  they  feel  quite 
virtuous  in  preparing  it." 

"Pomegranate  and  apples  of  Eden,  I  suppose !" 

"Nothing  but  home  dried  figs  and  apricots,  simmered 
together,  and  served  with  plain  custard.  Elizabeth 
gave  me  the  figs — little  wizened  things,  but  wonderfully 
sweet." 

"I  thought  Elizabeth  would  be  so  engrossed  in  saving 
the  heathen  that  she  would  have  no  time  for  the  vanities 
of  the  table." 

"I'm  afraid  we  know  very  little  of  a  missionary's 
actual  work."  Clara  dipped  her  dainty  finger  tips  into 
a  bowl  of  rose-water  beside  her  plate.  "Elizabeth  was 
telling  me  that  the  largest  service  a  missionary  can 
render  is  to  live  a  normal  life  in  the  midst  of  the  people. 
As  for  fragrant  and  delicate  dishes,  she  said  they  were 
so  common  among  the  natives  of  India,  except  among 
the  very  poor,  that  missionaries  had  to  guard  them- 


CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH   109 

selves  against  over  indulgence.  She  reminded  me  that 
the  East  was  advanced  in  culture  long  centuries  before 
we  crude  people  of  the  West  had  been  lifted  out  of 
barbarism." 

"It  jars  one's  self-complacency,  doesn't  it?" 

"I  should  think  so — and  the  Hindus  are  so  religious 
too!  Indeed,  I  had  quite  an  argument  with  Elizabeth 
about  the  wisdom  of  trying  to  convert  them  to 
Christianity." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Well,"  a  little  impatiently,  "something  that  I  don't 
believe  at  all : — that  the  hardness  and  wickedness  of  the 
Hindu  religion  is  hidden  at  the  heart  of  it,  and  does  not 
appear  at  first,  and  that  the  races  of  India  would 
be  world-rulers  to-day  but  for  the  ruin  wrought  by 
their  religion  in  mind  and  spirit." 

"That  certainly  is  an  interesting  statement." 

"O,  Elizabeth  is  interesting — she  always  was!  And 
now  she  talks  like — like  a  fascinating  novel  filled  with 
strange  new  situations." 

"She's  returning  to  India,  then,  without  any 
question?" 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  she  has  kept  her  promise  of  remain- 
ing at  home  for  one  full  year — Dr.  Janes  insists  on 
that.  He  says  he  wants  a  whole  year  just  to  look  into 
her  face,  then  India  may  have  her  back  again.  I  don't 
wonder,  either,  for  Elizabeth  is  a  perfectly  glorious 
housekeeper — you  know  she  took  her  mother's  place 
even  when  she  was  in  high  school.  I  was  with  her  this 
afternoon,  and,  Rho,  it  is  an  utter  amazement — one 
never  would  suspect  that  she  has  been  five  years  in  the 
heart  of  Asia.  She  has  such  quietness  and  poise,  as 


110      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

though  managing  an  American  household  were  her  chief 
calling  in  life." 

"That  certainly  is  generous  praise,  sweetheart,  com- 
ing from  one  who  knows  the  art  to  perfection.  What 
a  pity  that  Elizabeth  is  not  to  remain  at  home  to  crown 
the  love  of  some  great  American.  I've  been  disturbed 
ever  since  I  learned  that  she  is  going  back  again." 

Clara  seemed  not  to  hear  his  words,  but  sat  with  the 
shadow  of  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 

Rhodin  watched  her  wistfully — her  white  throat, 
golden  hair,  her  dreamy  eyes  that  looked  but  saw  not ; 
and  as  he  watched  her  his  face  grew  soft  with  tender- 
ness. 

"Poor  Dick !"  he  sighed  half  audibly. 

Clara  started:  "Why  poor  Dick?" 

"O,  I  scarcely  know.  Richard  Locke  and  I  lunched 
together  to-day.  I  was  urging  him  to  establish  a  home 
of  his  own,  but  he  did  not  take  very  kindly  to  the 
suggestion." 

"I  always  have  understood  that  Dr.  Locke's  home 
life  is  exceptionally  well  ordered."  Clara  spoke  with  a 
shade  of  formality. 

"Yes,  yes!  Miss  Winthrop  is  as  accurate  as  a 
straight-edge,  and  quite  as  human.  But  you  know 
what  I've  been  looking  forward  to — seeing  Elizabeth 
in  that  parsonage.  It  would  be  ideal  for  both  of  them, 
and  a  blessing  for  half  of  the  city." 

The  dreamy  eyes  of  Mrs.  Curtis  grew  watchful,  with 
a  sudden  narrowing  of  the  lids.  When  she  spoke  there 
was  a  perceptible  hardness  in  her  voice.  "I  hope  you 
were  not  indiscreet,  Rho,"  she  said. 

"I  can't  possibly  imagine,  Clara,  why  you  have  taken 


CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH  111 

such  a  violent  dislike  to  Richard  Locke !  He  is  the  soul 
of  courtesy,  even  though  it  must  have  wounded  him 
deeply  when  you  withdrew  from  the  church.  However, 
that's  none  of  my  affair,  and  I  try  not  to  let  it  bother 
me — though  I  confess  it  does,"  and  Rhodin  Curtis 
turned  impatiently  in  his  chair  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

Clara's  smile  was  full  of  sweetness,  but  her  eyes  re- 
mained watchful.  "I  am  sure  Dr.  Locke  is  a  very  able 
man,"  she  said,  "  and  speaks  his  own  convictions.  But 
a  minister's  courtesy,  or  lack  of  it,  is  no  part  of  a 
minister's  doctrine,  and  hardly  need  be  a  subject  for 
discussion.  Surely,  I  myself  have  not  lacked  in  cour- 
tesy to  my  husband's  friends." 

"No,  Clara,  and  I  did  not  mean  to  suggest  it.  For- 
give me" — with  a  frank  look  of  affection. 

"You  mustn't  be  so  wedded  to  Dr.  Locke,"  she 
answered;  and  then,  as  she  observed  the  jaded  look  in 
his  eyes :  "You're  tired  out,  Rho ;  I  wish  you  could  get 
away  for  a  fishing  trip — can't  you?" 

"That's  the  very  thing  I'm  planning,"  he  answered 
lightly.  "Dr.  Locke  and  I  are  leaving  for  the  north 
woods  on  Thursday  morning — settled  it  to-day.  We'll 
be  gone  for  a  full  week." 

There  was  a  slight  lifting  of  the  brows,  but  all  that 
Clara  said  was,  "I  hope  you'll  come  back  rested.  Must 
you  go  now?"  as  her  husband  rose  from  the  table. 

"Not  for  ten  minutes,  dear ;  I'm  to  call  at  the  parson- 
age to  pick  up  Locke  and  McRae — going  to  that  Boys' 
Club  in  the  twelfth  ward." 

"Most  reverend  company  of  martyrs — how  I  envy 
you!"  laughed  Clara  as  they  moved  into  the  library. 
Then,  while  Rhodin  paused  beside  a  reading  table  and 


THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

idly  turned  over  the  magazines,  she  shot  a  quick  glance 
toward  him  and  added,  carelessly,  "Of  course,  you  did 
not  mention  Elizabeth  in  your  zeal  for  Dr.  Locke's 
'home  establishment'?" 

"Well,  Clara,  perhaps  I  was  a  trifle  indiscreet.  It 
slipped  out  before  I  thought — much  to  Locke's  em- 
barrassment and  my  own — I'm  such  a  confounded 
gaffer,  you  know.  But  no  harm  was  done.  His  inter- 
est in  Elizabeth  is  purely  professional  and  missionary 
— more's  the  pity.  He  knows  of  her  engagement." 

"Her  engagement!" 

"Certainly — it's  no  secret,  I  suppose.  I  found  my- 
self in  a  blind  alley  and  the  shortest  way  out  was  to 
tell  him  flatly  what  you  told  me.  My  principal  annoy- 
ance was  that  Locke  seemed  wholly  unconcerned  about 
it." 

"Her  engagement !  I  never  heard  of  such  absurdity ! 
What  ever  possessed  you  to  say  such  a  thing?"  and 
Clara  Curtis  tapped  upon  the  rug  with  her  slipper. 

Rhodin  turned  slowly.  "It  hardly  is  generous, 
Clara,  to  take  me  up  like  this.  If  Elizabeth's  engage- 
ment is  to  be  kept  secret,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  so 
yesterday? — though  a  secret  engagement  seems  wholly 
out  of  keeping  with  the  character  of  Elizabeth  Janes." 

"Who  ever  said  that  Elizabeth  was  engaged?"  a  little 
querulously. 

There  was  no  answer — at  least  no  word  was  spoken. 
But  Rhodin  Curtis  bent  on  his  wife  the  same  keen  look 
that  sometimes  wrought  confusion  when  the  cashier  of 
the  City  National  was  requested  to  certify  an  un- 
familiar piece  of  bank  paper. 

A  heightened  color  came  to  Clara's  face,  but  the 


CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH  113 

tranquil  eyes  were  wide  open  and  the  hard  glint  of  them 
had  become  a  faint  glimmer  in  their  violet  depths.  She 
dropped  gracefully  upon  a  couch. 

"I  declare,  Rho,"  with  a  touch  of  weariness  in  her 
voice  and  a  slight  drooping  of  her  shoulders,  "it  seems 
to  me  you  expect  to  be  spoken  to  in  words  of  one 
syllable,  or  you'll  scarcely  understand  the  most  ordi- 
nary conversation !  'Two-and-two-make-f our,'  'the  cat- 
is-on-the-mat' — it's  all  very  plain  and  matter  of  fact, 
but  just  a  trifle  tiresome,  don't  you  think?"  and  Clara's 
slipper  was  tapping  upon  the  rug  again. 

"But,  my  dear,  this  is  a  serious  matter — at  least 
for  me.  Tell  me  truly :  did  you  not  say  yesterday  that 
Elizabeth  was  engaged  to  some  India  missionary  ?" 

"Let  me  see — what  were  we  speaking  of  at  that  par- 
ticular moment?" 

"What  difference  can  that  make,  Clara?  Either  you 
said  it  or  you  did  not  say  it,"  and  Rhodin  frowned 
slightly. 

"But,  Rho,  you  don't  recognize  what  I  mean.  If  I 
am  to  answer  you  'truly,'  so  that  you  shall  receive  the 
same  impression  to-day  that  you  did  yesterday  then  I 
must  reproduce  as  nearly  as  possible  the  same  atmos- 
phere. Truth  is  a  composite  of  many  parts  and  not  a 
mere  fragment."  He  was  watching  her. 

"O,  I  wish,  Rho,  that  you  could  have  been  with  me 
on  Sunday  morning,"  continued  Clara  rapturously. 
"Professor  Roome  gave  such  a  wonderful  talk  on  'The 
All-Reality  of  Truth.'  Truth  is  always  whole,  you 
know,  always  a  pervading  one-ness." 

"Never  mind,  my  dear,"  he  said,  putting  on  his  gloves. 
"There's  something  about  this  that  I  don't  seem  to 


114     THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

understand."  Then,  as  they  walked  into  the  hall,  he 
continued : 

"So  I'm  to  tell  Richard  Locke  that  I  was  mistaken, 
after  all — shall  I?  And  he  will  be  entitled  to  hold 
Elizabeth  in  America,  if  he  can — is  that  the  case,  sweet- 
heart?" 

"I  should  think  that  Dr.  Locke  has  been  told  quite 
enough  already!  Let  him  learn  a  thing  or  two  for 
himself  if  he's  so  interested." 

"But,  Clara,  I've  told  him  most  unequivocally  that 
Elizabeth  is  engaged." 

"And  are  you  fearful  that  the  good  minister  is  likely 
to  turn  gossip,  and  spread  the  interesting  item  among 
his  people?  In  that  case  tell  him,  by  all  means !"  The 
eyes  had  narrowed  again  and  the  hard  glint  had  come 
back  to  them. 

Rhodin  straightened.  "My  dear,  I  have  given  Dr. 
Locke  a  piece  of  misinformation ;  it  is  my  duty  to  cor- 
rect the  error.  Then  my  responsibility  ends." 

"Well,  Rho,"  Clara  was  smiling  now,  "perhaps 
Elizabeth  is  engaged — it  may  be  so.  At  least,  you  do 
not  know  that  it  is  not  so !  Let  well  enough  alone." 

Rhodin  looked  at  her  and  her  eyes  fell  before  his 
penetrating  gaze.  Then  he  spoke — gently,  but  with  a 
slight  catching  of  his  breath. 

"Clara,"  he  said,  "you  have  known  from  the  begin- 
ning my  long  and  close  friendship  with  Richard  Locke, 
and  you  know  perfectly  that  we  talk  together  in  most 
intimate  familiarity.  You  have  known,  for  more  than 
a  year,  that  I  have  treasured  a  deep  desire  that  he 
would  meet  and  love  Elizabeth,  and  that  she  would  give 
him  love  for  love.  Did  you  want  Richard  Locke  to 


CLARA  CURTIS  SPEAKS  THE  TRUTH  115 

believe  that  Elizabeth  was  engaged  to  someone  out  in 
India?" 

"O,  Rho,  don't  look  at  me  like  that — you  seem  so 
stem!" 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  stern  with  you,  Clara,  dear." 
He  put  his  arm  about  her,  but  she  held  away  from  him ; 
and  when  he  gently  turned  her  face  toward  him  there 
was  fear,  and  her  lips  were  trembling. 

"Did  you,  dear?"  he  repeated  softly. 

Then  she  flung  her  arms  about  him  and  hid  her  face. 
"I  did  not  want  anything,  Rho,  only  to  keep  Elizabeth 
away  from  Mortal  Error — to  hold  my  girl  friend  for 
the  Truth — and  y-you — to  win  you!  O,  can't  you  un- 
derstand, Rho, — the  All,  the  All-One,  the  All-Real?" 
— and  when  Clara  lifted  eager  eyes  to  her  husband's 
face  the  fear  had  flamed  into  a  mystic  zeal. 

Rhodin  kissed  her  softly  upon  the  cheek  and  opened 
the  door. 

"I  must  put  on  speed  or  I'll  keep  them  waiting,"  he 
said  very  gently.  "Good-night,  Clara.  I'm  sure  to  be 
late,  so  do  not  think  of  waiting  up  for  me."  His  ma- 
chine was  ready  at  the  end  of  the  porch.  He  sprang 
into  it  and  was  gone  without  looking  back. 

Clara  Curtis  waited  at  the  door  until  the  rear  light 
of  his  automobile  had  disappeared  down  the  avenue; 
then  she  walked  slowly  back  to  the  dining  room  and 
stood  beside  her  husband's  empty  chair. 


CHAPTER  X 
BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE 

IT  still  lacked  two  minutes  of  seven  when  Rhodin 
Curtis  swung  his  car  round  Furniki's  and  silently 
drew  up  at  the  stair  entrance  over  the  shop.  Richard 
Locke  stepped  to  the  pavement  followed  closely 
by  Chaplain  McRae.  Curtis  moved  with  deliberation, 
but  joined  his  two  friends  presently  in  front  of  the  ill- 
lighted  doorway.  He  looked  about  quizzically. 

"So  this  is  little  Italy !"  he  laughed.  "And  yonder, 
I  suppose,  is  your  hopeful  brood  of  unfledged  Gari- 
baldis and  D'Annunzios  who  are  to  redeem  it — not  to 
mention  a  youthful  Marconi  or  two,  a  Savonarola,  and 
even  a  budding  Angelo  to  make  it  glorious !" 

But  Richard  Locke  paid  no  heed  to  Rhodin's  banter- 
ing speech.  His  eyes  were  scanning  eagerly  a  group 
of  boys  some  thirty  yards  farther  down  the  block.  Two 
of  them  were  in  violent  altercation  and  a  street  fight 
was  at  the  spring.  The  velvet  tread  of  the  automobile 
had  crept  upon  them  and  landed  the  uptown  visitors 
without  attracting  so  much  as  a  glance.  The  quarrel 
was  trigger  quick. 

"Yo  gif-it  me  back  d'  dolla',  yo  beega  t'ief !  I  seen 
him  d'  first,  an'  I  gotta  d'  right !" 

The  glint  of  drawn  daggers  was  in  the  dark  sullen 
eyes  of  Joe  Penito,  prize  runner  of  the  twelfth  ward, 
eleven,  and  small  for  his  age.  The  sympathy  of  the 

116 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  117 

crowd  was  with  him  and  there  was  an  instant  response 
from  the  close-drawn  circle — 

"Dat's  a'  stuff,  Joe ;  an'  hoi'  him  to  it — you  gotta  d' 
right!" 

Craig  McRae  was  listening  closely.  "It  sure  is  an 
interesting  development  on  the  Italian  front,  Dickens," 
he  said  jocosely,  "but  I'm  guessing  that  your  Steward- 
ship Study  Class  is  clean  forgot  and  will  go  glimmering 
to-night — and  I'm  almost  guessing  that  the  carnal  mind 
will  drive  a  rather  dangerous  wedge  into  your  Boy  Club 
salient — hey,  Colonel?" 

Locke  turned  on  him  half  fiercely.  "Stewardship 
isn't  the  bloom  on  a  peach,  Craig;  it  may  mean  the 
point  of  a  bayonet.  Joseph's  a  good  boy — and  so  is 
Felix,  for  that  matter,  though  somewhat  of  a  bully. 
It's  a  money  mix-up,  that's  sure — and  human  as  a 
Quarterly  Conference !" 

"Or  a  directors'  meeting,"  Rhodin  chuckled. 

"Close  in  a  little,"  continued  Locke;  "if  we  keep  in 
the  shadow  the  boys  won't  see  us.  Perhaps  they'll 
give  us  a  practical  demonstration  of  'Stewardship  as 
she  is  spoke.'  If  they  don't,  so  much  the  worse  for  my 
teaching — and  I'd  rather  you  two  would  witness  my 
failure  than  any  two  men  living." 

"Failure  nothing,  Dick!"  and  Rhodin  Curtis  laid 
his  hand  on  Locke's  shoulder. 

"Anyhow,  Rho,  I've  told  the  boys  that  stewardship  is 
stern  stuff  for  the  street — it  grows  soft  when  it  stays  in 
the  study.  So  come  along ;  only  keep  mum !" 

The  three  friends  moved  cautiously  alongside  a  stack 
of  steel  castings  until  they  found  themselves  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  group,  yet  separated  from  them  by  a  dozen 


118      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

loose  foundry  crates  and  boxes  that  had  been  piled  at 
the  curb.  They  could  hear  and  see  perfectly,  but  with 
small  likelihood  of  being  observed  by  the  excited  boys. 

"Why,  Dick,  I  know  that  big  fellow,"  whispered 
Curtis  as  they  peered  through  the  open  spaces;  "his 
name  is  Bani.  Did  you  know  that  he  has  a  savings 
account  at  the  bank?" 

"Sure,  I  know  it,"  in  a  low  undertone;  "he's  one  of 
our  'Boosters,'  but  altogether  too  keen  after  money. 
Sh-h!" 

Joseph  Penito's  eyes  had  flamed  from  sullen  dark  to 
blazing  black.  His  fists  were  tight  drawn. 

"Yo  gif-it  back  d'  dolla'!  I  gotta  d'  right!"  and 
his  voice  quivered  with  passion. 

Felix  Bani  was  the  same  age  as  Joseph,  but  a  full 
head  taller,  heavy  and  strong  and  "beefy."  The  leer 
in  his  face  was  fairly  maddening  as  he  drew  back  his 
sleeve  and  swelled  out  his  biceps.  Then,  opening  his 
fingers  for  one  tantalizing  moment,  he  displayed  a  silver 
dollar  in  his  sweaty  palm. 

"Ya,  ya,  leetla  Joe,  yo  gotta  d'  right — an'  I  gotta 
damus'!" 

Rhodin  Curtis  choked  and  put  his  lips  to  Locke's  ear. 
"Lead  me  to  him,  Dick,  and  treat  him  with  becoming 
honor!  A  born  capitalist  stands  before  you  and  ex- 
pounds the  ethics  of  ownership.  The  secretary  of  the 
Stock  Exchange  couldn't  do  it  a  whit  better — 7  gotta 
da  mus'!" — and  Rhodin  shook  with  laughter. 

The  minister  gave  him  a  knowing  look,  but  held  up 
an  admonitory  finger.  The  war  beyond  the  crates  had 
reached  a  crisis. 

"Ya,  ya,  leetla  Joe!" 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  119 

It  was  too  much — Joe  lowered  his  head  and  lunged 
with  both  fists  at  his  burly  tormentor. 

Chaplain  McRae's  tense  whisper  leapt  out,  wholly 
unguarded :  "I'll  not  stand  for  this,  Dickens ;  the  little 
fellow  will  be  mauled  stiff,"  and  McRae  sprang  toward 
the  edge  of  the  barricade. 

But  Locke  was  too  quick  for  him  and  stopped  him 
with  an  old-time  gridiron  clutch.  The  chaplain  came 
down  on  both  knees. 

"Don't  butt  in,  Craig;  I'm  umpiring  this  game! 
Can't  you  see  what's  turning?" 

Craig  McRae  pulled  himself  together,  though  with  a 
noticeable  squaring  of  his  jaw,  and  looked  through  the 
crevices  of  the  loosely  piled  crates.  As  he  did  so  his 
face  relaxed  and  he  leaned  toward  his  friend  with  good 
will. 

"Your  eyes  are  quicker  than  mine,  old  man,  and  I'll 
leave  the  Italian  campaign  in  your  hands." 

Locke  touched  his  arm  affectionately,  and  then  the 
three  watchers  forgot  each  other  completely — they  had 
become  unconscious  and  unseen  members  of  the  very 
human  group  beyond  the  barricade. 

Joseph  Penito  had  no  need  of  the  chaplain's  friendly 
aid,  for,  just  as  he  lunged  forward  a  big  yellow  hand- 
kerchief was  dropped  deftly  over  his  eyes,  a  big, 
swarthy  hand  drew  him  back  into  the  circle,  and  a  big, 
kindly  voice  inquired  humorously: 

"W'y  you  een  soocha  hurry,  Joe?  Ees  planty  time 
for  maka  you'  nos'  one  pan-kack.  Eef  you  waita  leetla, 
mebbe  yo  shak'  han'  weeth  him." 

"Yo  le-me  go,  Pietro — I  keel  him !" 

"Keel  him,  Joe  ? — Oh,  mebbe  not !    He  be  more  good 


120      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

som'  day  dan  eef  he  croke.  Tal  ol'  Pietro  w'y  yo  gonta 
ponch  heem,"  and  the  big,  swarthy  hand  was  removing 
the  handkerchief  and  the  kindly  voice  was  humming  an 
Italian  ditty. 

Pietro  Vecchi  was  a  twelfth  ward  institution.  Two 
generations  of  street  boys  had  looked  to  him  as  the 
ordained  purveyor  of  life's  luxuries.  Worthy  vendors 
had  multiplied  during  the  years,  but  among  the  children 
the  tradition  held  that  only  Pietro's  bananas  and  pea- 
nuts and  "weenies"  were  worth  while — a  tradition  care- 
fully fostered  by  Pietro  himself. 

Richard  Locke  knew  the  shrewd  old  Italian  and  be- 
lieved in  him.  He  had  entered  into  an  alliance  with 
him  two  years  before.  It  was  Pietro's  part  of  the 
"beezeness"  to  keep  a  kindly  eye  on  all  the  boys  and 
"maka  beega  brag"  for  the  Club.  When  the  parish 
priest  strenuously  had  objected,  and  even  threatened, 
Pietro  swore  at  him  in  the  mellifluous  speech  of  southern 
Italy  and  requested  him  to  seek  a  more  fervent  clime. 

Pietro  was  a  socialist. 

The  reason  he  liked  Richard  Locke,  he  said,  was 
"baycause  ees  maka  me  laugh  eenside  for  talka  wit' 
heem" — a  rare  tribute  to  the  wholesome  flavor  of 
Locke's  religion. 

Nor  was  Pietro's  honorable  profit  from  this  alliance 
a  negligible  matter.  Mysterious  red  and  blue  tickets, 
bearing  the  initials  "R.  L."  in  green  ink,  had  become 
part  of  the  circulating  medium  of  the  twelfth  ward.  A 
blue  ticket  presented  at  Pietro's  stand  by  any  boy  or 
girl  meant  one  "banan,"  and  a  red  ticket  was  good  for 
two  "banan"  or  one  "baga  peanutta"  or  one  "weenie." 

Regularly  on  Saturday  mornings  Pietro  brought  his 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE 

vouchers  to  First  Church  parsonage  and  carried  away 
their  equivalent  in  cash — together  with  "one  granda 
gooda  feel"  under  his  coarse  cotton  blouse. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Richard  Locke  saw 
Pietro's  jovial  round  face  at  the  edge  of  the  circle,  he 
knew  well  that  he  had  with  him  a  watchful  ally  who  at 
least  would  safeguard  the  bones  of  Joe  Penito.  He 
waited  developments  with  keen  anxiety.  More  was  at 
stake  than  the  custody  of  a  silver  dollar,  and  Locke 
knew  it. 

"Tal-it  me,  Joe,  w'y  yo  ees  gat  so  mad  yo  wanta 
ponch  heem?  Ees  he  call  yo  'leetla  dago'?" 

"He  gotta  my  mon' — an'  he  one  beega  t'ief,"  burst 
out  Joe,  seeking  to  break  away  from  Pietro's  restrain- 
ing hand. 

"Ees  notta  you'  mon' — an'  eef  yo  don'  shutta  you* 
mout'  pritta  queeck  I  gon'  show  y'u!"  Felix  Bani  was 
fast  passing  from  a  teasing  to  a  pugnacious  mood. 

"Tal-it  me,  Joe,  how  longa  yo  hava  da  mon' — one 
day? — two  day?" 

Pietro  was  used  to  the  boys  and  knew  how  their 
pockets  were  lined,  almost  to  a  penny.  His  wheedling 
speech  was  not  to  be  resisted.  The  watchers  behind 
the  barricade  listened  intently. 

"Me  no  hava  da  mon',"  answered  the  boy  peevishly ; 
"me  founda  heem — jus'  now,"  and  Joe  weakened  a 
little. 

"Him  leetla  liar,  Pietro,  me  finda  mysal — peeckin' 
him  up  mysal."  Felix  spoke  with  conscious  virtue  and 
showed  the  dollar  still  lying  in  his  hand.  The  sight 
of  it  brought  a  covetous  gleam  into  Pietro's  eyes  and  a 
glower  of  rage  from  Joe. 


122      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Heem  beega  liar,  Pietro — me  finda!  Bani  no  see 
da  mon'  for  peeckin'  up!"  Then  the  truth  came  with 
a  burst  of  angry  tears. 

"I  seen-it  d'  dolla'  an'  am  gonna  peeckin'  him  up,  an' 
dat  beega  steef  he  fall-it  me  down  an'  peeckin'  up  d' 
dolla'  himsal — dirta  treeck!  I  gotta  d'  right!"  and 
Joseph  Penito  flashed  defiance  through  his  tears. 

Rhodin  Curtis  was  shaking  again  as  he  placed  his 
lips  close  to  Locke's  ear — 

"I  tell  you,  Dick,  young  Bani  has  the  making  of  a 
financial  wizard.  If  you'll  let  me  have  him  at  the  bank, 
I'll  get  him  ready  for  Coordinated  Copper.  Someone 
will  have  to  help  me  get  back  those  lost  margins,  and 
I've  an  inspiration  that  Felix  Bani  will  do  the  job." 

Richard  Locke  paid  no  heed  to  his  friend's  heroic 
burst. 

Pietro  Vecchi  was  smiling  broadly.  "O'  leetla  Joe, 
ees  notta  you'  dolla',  dough  mebbe  yo  seen  him  d'  first 
— an'  Feely,  ees  notta  you',  dough  mebbe  yo  peeckin' 
him  up.  Ees  makin'  nobodda  reech,  da  mon' — nobodda 
gona  tak'  heem !  Ees  founda  een  ceety  street,  da  mon', 
an'  ees  makin'  reech  all-a  da  peepla." 

The  social  philosophy  of  old  Pietro  was  illuminating 
and  its  effect  instantaneous. 

"Dat's  'a  stuff!"  called  out  Tony  Fetra,  who  had 
just  come  up  with  some  unsold  papers  under  his  arm. 
"Yesta'day  me  finda  ten  centa  on  da  breedge  an' 
peeckin'  him  up,  an'  bimeby  Feel'  Bani  comin'  an'  tal 
me  ees  better  gon'  getta  panutta  banan  da  ten  centa, 
for  treet.  Smarta  keed — eh,  Bani?" 

Felix  turned  a  black  look  against  the  new-comer  and 
moved  threateningly  toward  him.  But  Tony's  speech 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  123 

had  broken  his  hold  on  the  crowd  and  the  boys  jeered 
him  openly. 

"Smarta  keed,  Bani!"  they  yelled. 

Joe  saw  that  his  antagonist  was  bothered,  so  he 
pressed  home  his  claim  with  a  touch  of  friendly  diplo- 
macy. 

"Gif-it  me  back  d'  dolla,  Feely — das  'a  boy !  Mebbe 
so  yo'  onla  mak'  fool  weeth  me — mebbe  so.  Yo  gooda 
ondrastan'  I  gotta  d'  right,  da  mon." 

Felix  recognized  that  Pietro  and  the  crowd  were 
against  him,  so  he  made  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  met 
Joe's  friendly  diplomacy  with  a  compromise. 

"Ees  better  mebbe  eef  I  gon'  gif-it  you  fafta  cent, 
Joe— eh?" 

"Ees  more  better  eef  yo  gon'  gif-it  me  back  d' 
dolla,"  Joe  answered  sturdily,  but  with  evident  yielding 
in  his  voice. 

Pietro  Vecchi  was  listening  with  alert  attention  and 
his  beady  black  eyes  glistened  under  their  shaggy 
brows.  As  for  the  boys,  they  saw  that  a  negotiated 
peace  was  about  to  deprive  them  of  any  allied  interest 
in  the  matter,  a  clean  loss  all  round.  They  turned 
with  quick  intuition  to  Pietro,  umpire  in  many  a  street 
battle  and  trusted  divider  of  many  a  fugitive  coin. 

"Ees  notta  dey  mon,'  Pietro,  eh? — eef  dey  finda 
heem,  eh?"  Tony  Fetra  had  become  their  spokesman. 

"Ees  already  I  tal  de  keeds  so,  Tony;  ees  makin' 
reech  all-a  da  peepla,  da  mon'.  Dose  socialisma  gon' 
do  pritta  wel',  mebbe,"  and  Pietro  looked  knowingly  to- 
ward his  stand  and  turned  up  his  gasoline  torch. 

"Dat's  'a  stuff !"  was  Tony's  quick  answer.  "Social- 
isma gon'  be  for  makin'  evrabodda  reech,  eh,  Pietro?" 


124      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Sure  t'ing — pritta  soon  queeck !"  Pietro  opened  his 
peanut  roaster  and  let  out  a  savory  whiff. 

"Twalve  keeds,  eh,  Feely?"  he  continued,  giving  the 
roaster  a  business-like  turn  of  the  handle.  "Ees  all-a 
right !  Evrabodda  gon'  shak'  han' — ees  nobodda  gona 
gat  ponch  een  da  eye.  Peanutta,  banan,  weenie, 
chokolat — evratheeng  gooda  for  eaten.  Socialisma 
gon'  mak'  evrabodda  frands.  Ees  peecken  up  een  ceety 
street,  da  mon',  an*  ees  makin'  reech  all-a  da  peepla." 

"I  really  never  knew  that  old  Pietro  was  quite  so 
smooth,"  whispered  Locke,  dubiously,  "but  he'll  treat 
the  boys  square — you  watch,  now !" 

"Treat  them  square,  Dick — won't  he  though !  He's 
a  public  benefactor  and  a  Christian  steward  after  my 
own  heart,"  answered  Curtis. 

The  subdued  whisper  could  not  quite  cover  up  the 
sarcasm  in  Rhodin's  voice.  Richard  Locke  recognized 
it  and  was  troubled.  Perhaps  it  had  been  a  wretched 
mistake  to  ask  his  friend  to  the  Club.  That  miserable 
dollar — to  spoil  his  coveted  plan  of  exhibiting  his  boys 
at  their  best! 

"Well,  Rho,"  he  whispered,  "I  didn't  have  the  mak- 
ing of  Pietro;  but  I  give  you  my  word,  the  boys  are 
coming  on  fairly  well." 

"They're  human,  Dick.  Don't  you  dare  spoil  them 
with  sissy  church  notions!"  and  Rhodin  Curtis  turned 
on  him  with  a  suppressed  laugh. 

Downright  human  the  boys  were  as  they  crowded 
about  Pietro's  stand.  At  first  Felix  Bani  demurred 
with  emphasis. 

"Ees  notta  good  beezaness,  Pietro,"  he  said.  "Ees 
me,  da  mon' — me  an'  Joe;  finda  heem  oursal," — and 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE 

then  with  a  quick  turn  toward  his  late  antagonist, 
"Socialisma  ees  tarn  bunk,  Joe!" 

But  Joe  was  tasting  the  sweets  of  popularity  and 
turned  from  Felix  contemptuously.  A  dollar  treat 
for  the  club  and  nobody  the  poorer — socialism  was  all 
right ! 

Felix  stood  glowering.  He  hated  to  see  that  whole 
dollar,  "his  dollar,"  turned  into  peanuts  and  weenies ! 
He  felt  of  the  City  Savings  Bank  pass-book  in  his 
pocket.  One  more  dollar  would  bring  him  well  over  the 
twenty-dollar  mark  and  he  could  show  Dr.  Locke  and 
the  boys  a  total  of  more  than  two  dollars  in  his  tithe 
account.  Suddenly  the  inspiration  came  to  him. 

"Ees  nobodda  mon',"  he  shouted  excitedly.  "Ees 
belongin'  to  God,  da  mon'." 

Pietro  turned  angrily  from  the  "weenies,"  frying 
and  sputtering  in  the  pan.  "W'y  for  yo'  talka  bunk 
lika  dat?" 

"Ees  notta  bunk,  Pietro,"  returned  Felix,  sturdily. 
"Ees  gat  preenta  een  da  Bibla — Dr.  Locke  ees  learna 
me;  ees  learna  evra  keed;  eh,  Joe?" 

Joe  nodded  his  head  in  shame-faced  assent  and  the 
boys  supported  him  without  debate. 

The  old  vendor  split  a  "weenie"  with  skilled  precision. 
"Ya,  Feely,"  he  said,  good  naturedly,  "keeds  not  ondra- 
stan'  w'at  gona  mak'  preenta  een  da  Bibla;  yo  notta 
can  tal  it  me!" 

"Sure  t'ing,"  answered  Felix  contemptuously.  "Dr. 
Locke  ees  learna  evra  keed  outa  da  Bibla;  ees  preenta 
lika  dis :  'Da  seelvar  ees  .  .  .  ees  .  .  .  '  " — but  Felix 
floundered  with  his  text,  while  Pietro  threw  back  his 
head  and  his  fat  cheeks  shook  with  merriment. 


126      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Ya— w'at  I  tal  yo?"  he  said. 

"Tal-it  heera,  Joe,  or  I  keeck  yo !"  broke  out  Felix, 
hotly.  "Yo  more  gooda  r'memba  dan  me  da  Bibla." 

Richard  Locke  gripped  the  foundry  crate  against 
which  he  was  leaning  as  he  heard  Joe's  childish  treble 
lift  the  old  majestic  words  of  the  prophet : 

"  lDa  seelvar  eesa  mine,  an'  da  golda  eesa  mine,  sait' 
de  Lord  of  Hosta.'  " 

Rhodin  Curtis  dropped  his  head  for  a  moment  and 
did  not  see  the  smile  suddenly  leave  the  face  of  old 
Pietro.  When  he  looked  up  again  the  vendor  had 
moved  to  the  front  of  his  stand  and  was  speaking 
earnestly. 

"Yo  keeds  notta  ondrastan'  datta  talk  een  da  Bibla. 
Dr.  Locke  ees  moocha  frand  to  me — ees  maka  heem 
laugh  eef  keeds  notta  ondrastan'  da  Bibla!  Gif-it  me 
d'  dolla,  Feely,  an'  I  queeck  tal-it  you  w'at  Dr.  Locke 
mak'  learna  de  keeds." 

But  Felix  held  back  his  hand.  He  had  a  confused 
notion  that  something  even  yet  might  save  that  coveted 
dollar  from  confiscation.  He  would  hold  on  to  it ! 

Pietro's  speech  came  angrily,  like  the  sputtering  of 
his  own  red  sausages. 

"W'y  for  you  notta  gif-it  me,  Feely,  da  mon'? 
T'ink  Pietro  peeckin'  up  weenie  peanutta  vera  long  eef 
he  no  standa  to  beezaness?  How  I  gon'  make  social- 
isma  for  keeds  eef  I  no  gotta  d'  dolla'?  Bah!  I  show 
y'u,"  and  Pietro  extracted  a  piece  of  money  from  his 
own  capacious  pocket. 

"Look  see,"  holding  the  silver  coin  in  his  swarthy 
hand,  "I  tal-it  yo  w'at  Dr.  Locke  mak'  learna." 

The  boys  pressed  close  against  him,  while  the  gaso- 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  127 

line  torch  shone  full  on  their  dark,  eager  faces.  The 
watchers  behind  the  barricade  peered  expectantly,  and 
Rhodin  Curtis  did  not  even  think  to  jest. 

"Look  see  da  eagla,"  began  Pietro,  holding  the  coin 
close  up  to  the  light.  "Heem  bully  beega  bird,  da 
eagla;  heem  fighta  lik'  hell — sure  t'ing!  Ees  'Merica, 
da  eagla,  an'  ees  better  so  eef  Germo  an'  tarn  Turko 
looka  out,  pritta  queeck !" 

The  flashing  eyes  about  him  made  eloquent  response, 
and  Tony  Fetra  called  out  scornfully,  "Ya!  Pershing 
gon'  gif-it  to  'em,  ya  betcha!" 

"Sure  t'ing !"  answered  Pietro,  smiling.  Then,  turn- 
ing the  coin  upon  its  obverse  and  drawing  it  nearer  to 
him.  "Look  see  da  lady,"  he  said;  "ees  nama  'Leeb- 
erta' — an'  ees  gon'  be  alia  same  lik'  Onkla  Sam. 

"Now,  Joe,"  he  continued,  "you  ees  sure  smarta  keed ; 
look  see  w'at  ees  gat  preenta  by  da  lady — read  moocha 
strong  for  all-a  de  keeds." 

Joe  read  in  a  loud,  confident  voice — "Een  God  we 
trost." 

The  old  vendor's  cheeks  were  creased  in  a  fat,  good- 
natured  smile.  "Ya,  ya,"  he  laughed,  "I  gooda  ondra- 
stan'  datta  talk.  Dr.  Locke  mak'  learna  da  keeds  alia 
same  w'at  I  tal-it  yo — alia  same  lik'  does  socialisma," 
and  Pietro  spread  his  legs  in  familiar  street-teacher 
fashion  and  slapped  his  palm  with  a  stubby  index  finger. 

"Ees  moocha  seelley  peepla  een  da  worl'  mak'  singin' 
prayin'  beezaness  een  da  churcha,"  continued  Pietro, 
sagely.  "Da  ees  notta  beega  God  up  een  da  sky,  lika 
does  seelley  peepla  t'ink.  Dat  ees  justa  beega  bloff." 

"Ees  notta  bloff !"  remonstrated  Joe,  sturdily.  "Dr. 
Locke  himsal'  ees  gon'  mak'  preacha  een  da  churcha." 


128      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Sure  t'ing!"  Pietro  wagged  his  head,  knowingly. 
"Don'  I  tal-it  yo  Dr.  Locke  ees  vera  smarta  man? 
Gotta  free  t'ousan'  dolla'  evra  year  for  mak'  preacha 
wit'  dose  seelley  peepla  een  da  churcha." 

Richard  Locke  glanced  quickly  at  the  men  beside 
him  and  then  moved  toward  the  edge  of  the  barricade 
— old  Pietro  must  be  stopped  or  harm  might  be  done ! 
But  Rhodin  Curtis  touched  his  arm  restrainingly. 

"Hold  steady,  Dick,"  he  whispered.  "I  don't  think 
the  old  man  intends  any  harm;  anyhow,  the  boys  will 
wing  him.  Wait  a  little  longer  and  see."  A  cham- 
pion already  was  making  answer. 

"Dr.  Locke  mak'  learna  de  Club  evra  week — 'Een 
God  we  trost,'  justa  so  lik'  da  preenta  on  d'  dolla.' 
Ees  notta  bloff,  da  Club!"  Felix  Bani  was  ready  to 
fight  for  the  good  name  of  his  Club  and  its  director. 

"Ya,  Bani,  yo  ees  notta  ondrastan' !"  exclaimed  old 
Vecchi,  angrily,  taking  up  his  fork  and  giving  the 
"weenies"  a  quick  turn  in  the  pan.  "Me  notta  say  da 
Club  eesa  bloff — yo  ees  moocha  frash  keed!" 

Then  the  broad,  good-natured  smile  came  back  again. 

"Dose  Club  ees  justa  keeds,"  he  went  on.  "Dr. 
Locke  ees  notta  learna  yo  mooch  deesa  time.  Bimeby 
he  maka  good  oxsplain  da  preenta  on  d'  dolla' — heem 
tal-it  yo  da  granda  socialisma." 

Pietro  waved  his  fork  excitedly  and  held  up  the  silver 
coin.  "Look  see  da  lady !"  he  exclaimed.  "Eesa  nama 
'Leeberta'!  Moocha  seeley  peepla  dey  t'ink  ees  beega 
God  up  een  da  sky  same  lik'  de  Jesu  dat'  eesa  croke 
two  t'ousand  year  ago.  Ees  notta  Jesu  up  een  da 
sky,  eesa  da  Leeberta!  Een  da  Leeberta  eesa  da 
trosta.  Ees  more  better  dan  d'  God,  da  Leeberta." 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  129 

Richard  Locke  started  up  angrily.  "Fool  that  I've 
been  to  let  him  poison  my  lads !"  he  muttered.  And 
then  he  felt  Rhodin's  iron  grip  upon  his  arm  and  his 
tense  whisper  in  his  ears. 

"If  that  Italian  devil  has  been  poisoning  your  kids, 
then  I  suppose  you'll  have  to  go  and  doctor  them  the 
best  you  can — and  yet  I  declare  before  heaven  the  old 
fool  has  been  giving  them  the  only  dope  that  I  can 
understand !  Old  Pietro's  an  orthodox  saint  compared 
to  me!  His  fool  socialism  gives  him  a  pair  of  legs  to 
stand  on,  but  I  haven't  even  a  worn-out  crutch — and 
damned  if  I  want  one !  Go  help  your  kids,  Dick.  Old 
Vecchi  won't  hurt  them.  I'll  step  over  and  wait  for 
you  in  the  car." 

Locke  looked  at  him.  Beads  of  sweat  were  standing 
on  his  forehead  and  his  eyes  had  the  look  of  a  man 
walking  near  the  edge  of  a  chasm. 

"Don't  say  it,  old  fellow!"  Locke's  whisper  was 
barely  audible.  "You're  my  right  hand  helper,  and 
the  boys  swear  by  you!  Stay  with  me,  Rho.  I  need 
you." 

"Really,  Dick,  when  you  know  me  as  I  am?" 

"Really,  Rho,  and  because  I  know  you." 

"It  was  a  fool  experiment,"  continued  Locke,  frown- 
ing, "and  I've  got  myself  to  blame  for  it !  Come  along" 
— touching  McRae  on  the  shoulder — "as  though  we 
had  just  driven  up  and  hadn't  heard  a  word." 

Craig  McRae  held  up  a  warning  hand.  He  had  been 
watching  through  the  barricade. 

"Sh-h !"  he  cautioned,  "there's  a  lot  more  meal  in  this 
barrel — keep  quiet!" 

The  men  stopped  and  peered  through  the  open  crates 


130      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

as  before.  Old  Pietro  had  laid  down  his  fork  and  was 
heaping  up  a  pile  of  bulky  brown  sandwiches.  The 
gasoline  torch  flamed  in  a  vagrant  street  breeze  and  the 
steam  from  the  peanut  roaster  came  with  a  soft 
friendly  gurgle. 

The  boys  were  grouped  as  before  except  that  Felix 
Bani  had  pushed  to  the  edge  of  the  circle,  muttering 
resentfully,  "Ees  notta  bloff,"  and  a  pinched,  white- 
faced  little  fellow,  with  a  crooked  back,  had  crowded  in 
next  to  Pietro.  He  was  looking  at  the  sandwiches  with 
wide  hungry  eyes,  and  evidently  had  just  asked  a  ques- 
tion. 

"Wat  eesa  dat  yo  say,  Humpy  Jeem  ?" 

Pietro  looked  down  laughing  and  the  big,  kindly 
voice  took  on  a  touch  of  tenderness.  The  nickname 
was  spoken  as  a  rightful  appellation,  and  with  no  least 
suggestion  of  raillery.  The  little  fellow  lifted  his  eyes 
to  Pietro's  face  but  Joe  Penito  took  the  words  out  of 
his  mouth. 

"Humpy  Jeem  gon'  say — Eesa  Leeberta  gon'  geeva 
t'ings  w'en  keeds  maka  pray?" 

Pietro  Vecchi  scowled.  "Wat  for  you  talka  lika 
dat,  Humpy  Jeem?  Ees  onla  beega  bloff  een  da 
churcha,  dose  seengin'  prayin'  beezaness !  Keeds  notta 
mak'  soocha  fool  talk  lika  dat !" 

The  thin  little  face  grew  wistful  and  the  great  hungry 
eyes  looked  into  Pietro's  with  utter  confidence. 

"Heem  eesa  moocha  frand  weeth  my  modda' — ees 
moocha  halp  for  my  modda'  dose  time  she  maka  pray." 
The  words  came  with  limpid  clearness. 

"Eh?"  asked  Pietro,  stolidly,  "who  eesa  heem?" 

"Jesu." 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  131 

Pietro's  mouth  opened  incredulously  and  then  shut 
again.  The  boys  pushed  close  together  while  the  little 
fellow's  voice  rose. 

"Me  gon  be  moocha  seeck  las'  mont',  Pietro,  an'  my 
modda'  gon  be  moocha  seeck  hersal.  Notta  can  work 
— notta  no  mon' — notta  notheeng  for  eaten  een  da 
house.  Den,  bimeby,  I  eesa  gon  cry  for  hongry,  an'  my 
modda'  queeck  go  by  da  bed  an'  maka  pray  weetha  Jesu 
for  plees  geeva  som'  grob — an',  sure  t'ing!  pritta  soon 
Dr.  Locke  eesa  comin'  een  da  house,  an'  da  Meesa 
Copla',  an'  den  dey  ees  queeck  gon  maka  gooda  granda 
grob  for  eaten." 

Old  Pietro  took  out  the  yellow  handkerchief  and 
gave  his  nose  a  mighty  blow.  "Dr.  Locke  ees  moocha 
my  frand,"  he  said,  huskily,  "I  tal  yo  w'at!  Heem 
moocha  smarta  man  'an  gooda  ondrastan'  dose  social- 
isma." 

"Ya,  Pietro,"  and  Joe  Penito's  shrill  voice  cut  like  a 
whip  cord,  "Humpy  Jeem  he  tal-it  he'sa  modda'  notta 
mak'  pray  weetha  Leeberta,  lika  dose  socialisma,  eesa 
mak'  pray  weetha  Jesu! — eh,  Humpy?" 

But  "Humpy  Jeem"  paid  no  heed  to  him.  He  was 
looking  into  Pietro's  face  and  his  little  thin  hand 
touched  the  old  vendor  tenderly.  His  great  black  eyes 
were  shining. 

"Bimeby,"  the  little  lad  went  on  as  though  there  had 
been  no  interruption — "Bimeby,  w'en  I  ees  more  strong, 
I  eesa  try  mysal'  for  mak'  pray  weetha  Jesu,  lika  my 
modda', — an'  I  gon  tal-it  heem  for  branga  peanutta — 
O'  keeds,  donta  laugh  atta  me ! — an'  sure  t'ing !  Pietro 
gif-it  my  modda'  two  baga  peanutta,  for  tak'  to  Humpy 
Jeem  baycause  Pietro  say  he  eesa  seeck  leetla  keed!" 


132      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

and  Humpy  Jeem  laid  his  tired  head  against  the  fat, 
swarthy  hand  and  rested  it  there. 

For  a  moment  there  was  tense  stillness.  Pietro  stood 
motionless  as  though  he  did  not  dare  remove  his  hand, 
while  Tony  Fetra  patted  little  Jeem  upon  the  arm.  Joe 
Penito's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  gasoline  torch  and  his 
lips  were  parted  as  though  he  were  seeing  something 
in  the  vagrant  flame.  Suddenly  he  called  out — 

"Ya,  Bani,  ees  better  so  eef  we  gif-it  d'  dolla'  to 
Humpy  Jeem  for  taka  home  to  he'sa  modda', — eh, 
Bani?" 

"Dats  'a  stuff!"  shouted  Tony  Fetra  jubilantly, 
"he'sa  modda'  ees  moocha  seeck  more  dan  free  week — 
notta  can  work,  notta  no  mon'.  Gif-it  heem  d'  dolla', 
Bani, — das  'a  boy!" 

Felix  felt  of  the  silver  coin  still  grasped  tightly  in  his 
hand.  His  heart  was  touched,  but  his  master  passion 
still  held  him.  He  answered  doggedly: 

"Eesa  balongin'  to  God,  da  mon',  lak'  I  tal-it  yo. 
Ees  better  so  eef  we  gif-it  to  Humpy  Jeem  da  ten  centa, 
lika  ees  preenta  een  da  Bibla — Da  tent'  shalla  be  holy- 
Dr.  Locke  ees  learna  so  alia  de  keeds,  eh,  Joe?" 

Joe  opened  his  mouth  for  a  stinging  answer  when 
something  happened.  Pietro  gathered  Humpy  Jeem 
into  his  arms  while  the  tears  rolled  down  his  oily  cheeks. 

"Pietro  gif-it  yo'  d'  dolla,  leetla  Jeem,"  he  choked, 
"heem  gif-it  yo  faf  dolla',  tan  dolla'!  Pietro  ees  onla 
dumb  ole  dago  man,  an'  notta  know  not'ings.  Mebbe 
so  bimeby  yo  try  maka  pray  weetha  Jesu  for  dumb  ole 
Pietro — eh,  leetla  Jeem?" 

As  the  little  fellow  snuggled  close  against  the  coarse 
cotton  blouse,  a  sweaty  hand  pressed  a  silver  dollar  be- 


BEHIND  THE  BARRICADE  133 

tween  his  fingers,  and  Felix  Bani  turned  and  shook 
hands  with  Joe  Penito. 

Then  Pietro  placed  Humpy  Jeem  gently  upon  the 
ground  and  turned  briskly  to  his  stand. 

"Come  along  queeck,  keeds,"  he  laughed,  boisterously, 
"ees  alia  right!  Ees  ol'  Pietro  time  for  treet.  Pea- 
nutta,  banan,  weenie,  chokolat, — halp  yoursal!  Ees 
peecken'  up  een  ceety  street,  da  mon',  an  ees  maka 
reech  evra  keed — sure  t'ing !" 


"Ho,  ho,"  called  out  a  cheery  voice, — an  exultant 
voice, — "what  are  you  doing  with  my  boys,  Pietro? 
and  who's  going  to  pay  for  all  these  'eats'?"  Richard 
Locke  was  sTiaking  hands  with  them  two  at  a  time.  He 
slapped  Felix  Bani  on  the  back,  tousled  the  hair  of  Joe 
Penito,  and  hugged  Humpy  Jeem  tenderly  to  him. 

"Ees  Pietro  gon  geeva  da  treet,  Dr.  Locke,  an* 
evra  keed  halpa  himsal !  Mebbe  so  yo  oxscuse  de  keeds 
deesa  time  for  maka  late  een  da  Club?" 

"Sure  thing,  Pietro,  give  them  all  they  can  eat !  It's 
a  Club  treat  to-night,  and  here  are  fifty  red  tickets! 
These  gentlemen  are  my  friends,  Pietro.  They  have 
come  to  visit  the  Club  and  want  to  taste  your  fresh 
peanuts.  Come  on,  boys — come  on,  Pietro — bring  the 
'eats'  up  to  the  hall.  No  lesson  to-night,  justa  granda- 
beega-peeckneeck !  Come  along,  Craig — come  on, 
Rho !  There's  more  meal  in  this  barrel  than  we'll  ever 
know!" 

As  the  boys  crowded  up  the  steep  stairway  over 
Furniki's,  Humpy  Jeem  stumbled  and  Rhodin  Curtis 
lifted  him  in  his  strong  arms  and  carried  him  to  the 


184      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

top.  The  boy  looked  into  his  face  with  the  quick  in- 
stinct of  childhood. 

"Mebbe  so  I  gonna  be  strong  an'  beega  som'  day  lika 
you — mebbe  so  bimeby  you  gona  mak'  pray  weetha 
Jesu  for  halp  me — eh,  Meester?" 

Rhodin  smiled  down  at  him  and  his  lips  trembled. 

"Mebbe  so,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  SHINERS 

RICHARD  LOCKE  looked  at  his  watch  and  was 
incredulous ;  it  was  only  seven-thirty.  That  whole 
crowded  experience  behind  the  barricade  had  been 
packed  into  twenty  minutes !  There  was  still  time  for 
the  Junior  Class  in  Stewardship  before  the  regular 
meeting  of  the  Club,  and  yet  he  knew  perfectly  that  a 
"granda-beega-peeckneeck"  was  the  best  possible  use 
for  the  remaining  half  hour. 

Pietro  laid  his  last  tray  from  the  pushcart  on  the 
Club  table  and  mopped  his  face  with  the  big  yellow 
handkerchief.  Humpy  Jeem  was  looking  at  him  with 
lustrous  eyes.  Then  he  turned  to  Rhodin  Curtis,  whose 
hand  he  still  was  holding. 

"Heem  ees  beega  frand  weetha  Jesu',"  he  said  with 
his  mouth  full  of  "chokalat." 

Rhodin  looked  down  at  him,  smiling.  "How  do  you 
know,  Jeemy?"  he  asked. 

"Bay cause  heem  ees  notta  keeck  w'en  Jesu'  tal-it 
heem  for  be  kind  weeth  Humpy  Jeem." 

"Has  he  been  kind  to  you?" 

"Sure  t'ing!"  And  there  in  the  dim  corner,  while 
the  rest  of  the  boys  were  laughing  and  singing  in  their 
glee,  Rhodin  heard  again  "leetla  Jeem's"  story  of  the 
sickness  at  home,  the  hunger,  the  "maka  pray  weetha 
Jesu',"  and  the  sure,  swift  answer  that  came  through 
Richard  Locke.  And  his  own  restless  spirit  grew  quiet. 

135 


136      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Say,  Meester," — the  great  brown  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him  questioningly — "mebbe  so  reech  peepla  som' 
time  gatta  seeck,  eh?"  And  then,  as  Rhodin  remained 
silent,  he  went  on  with  a  look  of  childish  penetration: 

"Mebbe  so  dey  gatta  seeck  een  dey  heart,  eh, 
Meester?" 

Rhodin's  answer  came  with  gentleness,  but  the  smile 
had  faded  from  his  face. 

"Mebbe  so,  Jeemy,"  he  said. 

Then  the  little  fellow  snuggled  close.  "Say,  Meester, 
I  tal  you  w'at — I  gon'  maka  pray  weetha  Jesu'  for  halp 
you,  eh?" 

Rhodin  said  nothing,  but  he  patted  the  curly  head 
beside  him. 

"Come,  boys!" 

The  pastor  had  been  standing  by  the  Club  table, 
laughing  and  jesting  with  Pietro  and  eating  peanuts. 
Just  now  he  was  tapping  the  table  and  calling  the  boys 
to  attention. 

"Boys,  Pietro  tells  me  that  you  have  eaten  sixteen 
bags  of  peanuts,  twenty-one  weenies,  thirty  bananas, 
and  every  piece  of  chocolate  he  has  left.  I  call  a  halt !" 
The  broad  smile  was  sufficient  comment  on  the  severity 
of  his  discipline. 

"All  the  'eats'  on  this  table  must  be  kept  for  the  big 
fellows,"  he  went  on,  "and  you  have  just  five  minutes 
to  clear  up  and  get  the  hall  ready  for  them.  'Tention ! 
—Get  busy!" 

There  was  a  shout  and  the  boys  fell  to  it.  Banana 
skins  and  peanut  shells  were  whisked  into  old  news- 
papers and  carried  to  the  alley.  The  chairs  were  set 


THE  SHINERS  137 

straight  and  some  semblance  of  order  was  given  to  a 
room  which,  at  best,  was  an  untidy  and  uninviting 
apartment.  In  less  than  five  minutes  the  play-work 
was  finished  and  the  pictures  of  Washington,  Mazzini, 
Lincoln,  Garibaldi,  Roosevelt,  and  Wilson  looked  down 
into  the  faces  of  a  dozen  young  Americans. 

"Boys,  in  five  minutes  more  we  must  give  the  big 
fellows  this  room.  We  haven't  had  our  lesson  this 
week,  and  I'm  glad  to  excuse  you — only  next  week  I 
want  you  to  be  good  and  ready.  What  is  it  about?'* 

Joe  Penito  spoke  up  with  promptness,  "Page  twenty- 
three." 

"And  what's  the  subject?" 

"How  Does  a  Christian  Steward  Pray?" 

"All  right — study  the  questions  and  answers,  and 
next  week  you'll  have  a  good  time.  Miss  Copley  will 
be  leader.  Does  any  boy  want  to  ask  a  question  before 
you  go?" 

"Dr.  Locke." 

"Yes,  Joe." 

"Eef  keeds  finda  som*  mon  een  da  street  an*  peecken 
up,  ees  dey  he's-a  mon?" 

"Well,  Joe,  your  first  business  would  be  to  find  the 
person  who  lost  the  money,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Sure  t'ing!  But  eef  notta  can  finda  heem — den 
ees  dey  he's-a  mon  ?" 

"Who  is  the  Owner  of  all  the  silver  and  all  the  gold 
and  all  the  money,  Joe?" 

"God." 

The  name  was  spoken  with  boyish  reverence.  Few 
boys  down  under  their  quiddities  and  bravado  are  ir- 
reverent at  heart. 


138      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"And  how  do  we  make  sure  that  God  owns  it  all,  so 
that  we  will  remember  to  use  it  honestly  like  good 
stewards?" 

"We  geeven  heem  back  da  tent'  for  he's-a  keengdom." 
The  boys  nodded  their  approval. 

"Fine,  Joe!  Now,  just  one  more  question — then  I 
want  you  to  'beat  it'  quick!  You  see  the  big  fellows 
are  coming  in  already.  Crowd  up  close  to  me."  The 
boys  packed  in  together  and  Rhodin  Curtis  sauntered 
a  little  nearer.  McRae  stood  by  the  door. 

"Answer  this :  When  we  give  a  tenth  back  to  God  for 
his  kingdom,  does  the  rest  of  the  money  belong  to  us? 
What  do  you  think,  Felix?" 

Felix  Bani  turned  red  and  looked  toward  Humpy 
Jeem,  who  was  standing  in  front  of  Pietro.  With  a 
cautious  movement  the  little  fellow  drew  from  his 
pocket  the  silver  dollar  that  a  sweaty  hand  had  pressed 
between  his  fingers  only  a  half-hour  before.  Then  his 
eyes  filled  and  he  leaned  over  and  took  hold  of  the 
big  coarse  hand. 

"Bani  gooda  ondrastan'  datta  question,  Dr.  Locke." 

"I'm  sure  he  does;  it's  an  easy  one,  Jeemy,  isn't  it?" 

Suddenly  Felix  gripped  the  thin  fingers  and  turned 
on  the  rest  of  the  boys  defiantly.  "Ees  all  balongin'  to 
God  for  maka  halp — da  tent'  fust,  an'  den  evra  tarn 
cent !"  and  he  bolted  down  the  stairs. 

There  was  a  yell — "Bully,  Bani!"  and  the  boys 
bolted  after  him  with  Joe  Penito  in  the  lead. 

Richard  Locke  was  laughing  as  he  turned  toward 
Craig  McRae. 

"Chaplain,"  he  said,  "when  you  get  back  from 
France,  maybe  you  can  tell  me  how  to  keep  big-boned 


THE  SHINERS  139 

men  from  using  swear  words — then  I'll  put  the  screws 
down  hard  on  my  boys." 

But  Chaplain  McRae  did  not  answer  him. 

"Did  you  invite  me  to  a  Christian  Boys'  Club,  Dr. 
Locke,  or  a  Wild  West  Show?"  Captain  Frank  Janes 
emerged  from  the  welter  of  boys  on  the  stairway  and 
made  his  way  across  the  room. 

"To  both,  Captain  Janes!  I  should  call  it  'Wild 
West'  and  therefore  'Christian' — though  I'm  afraid 
your  good  father  seriously  questions  my  orthodoxy." 

"So  did  I  six  months  ago,  but  I'm  getting  a  new 
slant  on  this  whole  business.  Fifteen  of  the  Club  are  in 
my  company — as  clean  young  Americans  as  I  want  to 
see!" 

"Twenty-three  of  the  boys  are  in  khaki,  Captain — 
eight  of  them  under  Marlatt  in  the  tenth  division. 
Twenty-three  out  of  a  total  membership  of  thirty ;  not 
a  bad  showing!  Only  four  or  five  of  them  were  able 
to  get  leave,  so  you  see  we're  in  for  a  small  meeting 
to-night!" 

"It's  great,  Dickens,  positively  great!"  and  Chap- 
lain McRae  walked  across  to  the  table  where  nine  or 
ten  young  fellows  were  finishing  the  last  tray  of  Pietro's 
"eats." 

Tony  Carrari,  president  of  the  Club,  and  three  or 
four  others,  were  dressed  in  khaki ;  the  rest  of  the  group 
wore  the  easy  summer  negligee  of  young  America. 
Pietro's  clumsy  efforts  to  make  even  distribution  of  his 
remaining  peanuts  brought  derisive  comment.  The 
bananas  and  weenies  had  disappeared  the  first  round. 

"When  are  you  going  to  be  head  of  the  fruit  trust, 


140      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Pietro?"  asked  Tony  as  his  white  teeth  tore  the  shell 
from  a  crisp  peanut. 

"He's  working  a  corner  in  'goobers,'  just  now," 
laughed  Andy  Cosmi,  who  had  lived  in  Atlanta.  "He'll 
unload  pretty  soon  for  the  benefit  of  the  socialists." 

"He's  sure  unloading!" 

But  Pietro  grinned  knowingly.  "Dose  socialisma 
ees  all  right,  fellas — I  tal  you  w'at!"  And  Rhodin 
Curtis,  who  was  lounging  against  the  window,  laughed 
and  called  out,  "Sure  thing,  Pietro !" 

A  hint  from  Richard  Locke,  and  the  presence  of 
two  officers  of  the  army,  spurred  the  president  of  the 
Club  to  call  the  meeting  promptly  to  order. 

"Let's  get  down  to  business,  fellows,"  he  said;  "I 
will  ask  Chaplain  McRae  to  make  the  prayer."  And 
the  Chaplain  prayed  as  one  man  calls  to  another  when 
he  must  have  help  to  bear  a  heavy  load. 

"As  this  is  a  special  meeting,  I  will  ask  our  Director 
to  open  it  in  any  way  he  wants."  Tony  Carrari  spoke 
with  soldierly  directness,  and  DT.  Locke  followed  him 
with  easy  and  familiar  fellowship. 

"You  know  why  this  special  meeting  has  been  called, 
boys,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  asked  Chaplain  McRae, 
Captain  Janes,  and  Mr.  Curtis  to  meet  with  us.  It's 
too  bad  that  all  the  fellows  can't  be  here,  but  we  know 
what  they  want  and  what  they  think.  Suppose  we 
have  the  secretary  read  the  resolutions  that  were 
passed  at  the  last  full  meeting  of  the  Club." 

Chris  Penito,  who  was  assistant  shipping  clerk  at 
King  and  Kennedy's,  took  a  folded  paper  from  his 
pocket  and  arose  with  some  embarrassment — he  was  not 
accustomed  to  speak  in  the  presence  of  the  junior 


THE  SHINERS  141 

partner  of  the  house,  and  now  a  captain  in  uniform. 
He  read,  without  lifting  his  eyes,  the  following  docu- 
ment, phrased  after  the  manner  of  formal  resolutions 
as  the  boys  had  seen  them  printed  in  newspapers. 

"WHEREAS,  The  Italian  Boys'  Club  was  started  three  years  ago 
and  has  been  a  success;  and, 

"WHEREAS,  We  do  not  call  ourselves  foreigners  in  this  city,  but 
are  true  Americans;  and, 

"WHEREAS,  The  first  members  of  the  Club  are  not  any  longer 
boys,  but  young  men;  therefore, 

"Resolved,  (1)  That  the  name  of  our  Club  shall  be  changed  to 
some  name  more  appropriate; 

"Resolved,  (2)  That  the  members  who  are  in  the  army  shall  stick 
together  and  send  regular  Club  letters  to  the  fellows  who  have  got 
to  stay  at  home; 

"Resolved,  (3)  That  Furniki's  Hall  is  not  a  good  meeting  place, 
and  we  hope  our  director  will  let  us  use  one  of  the  rooms  at  his 
church; 

"Resolved,  (4)  That  we  are  willing  to  pay  our  tithe  to  Dr. 
Locke's  church  in  order  to  look  after  our  share  of  the  expenses." 

"I  like  that  paper,"  said  Rhodin  Curtis  with  an 
emphatic  jerk  of  his  head.  "It's  good  business.  It  gets 
right  to  the  point,  says  what  it  means,  and  then  stops." 

Chris  Penito  took  his  seat,  looking  much  pleased, 
and  Andy  Cosmi  reached  over  with  a  handful  of 
peanuts.  But  Tony  Carrari  glanced  inquiringly 
toward  the  Director  of  the  Club,  who  smiled  and  nodded 
his  head  in  reply. 

"All  right,  Mr.  President,  I'll  stand  by  you."  Then 
Richard  Locke  turned  toward  the  visitors,  genially, 
and  yet  with  a  touch  of  formality.  The  minister  of 
Old  First  never  forgot  the  respect  that  was  due  even 
to  his  twelfth-ward  boys. 

"I  think  I  should  explain,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "why 


142      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

these  resolutions  are  presented  here  to-night  for  your 
information,  and,  I  hope,  for  your  indorsement.  Ever 
since  our  government  declared  war  it  has  been  perfectly 
apparent  that  the  Club  has  outgrown  its  name.  In 
fact,  the  name  was  a  mistake  in  the  first  place.  These 
lads  are  as  truly  American  as  I  am — and  that's  saying 
a  lot!  The  Club  name,  however,  is  incidental.  The 
meat  of  the  resolutions  is  at  the  end.  The  implica- 
tions, you  see,  are  rather  far-reaching. 

"At  the  last  full  meeting  of  the  Club,"  continued  the 
Director,  "just  before  the  selective  draft  took  most  of 
the  boys  to  camp,  these  resolutions  were  presented  and 
passed  by  unanimous  vote.  Two  of  the  items  require 
Board  action,  so  I  have  waited  until  our  Centenary 
plans  were  well  in  hand  before  presenting  them.  I 
wanted  you  to  come  here  to-night  that  you  might  be 
able  to  judge,  first  hand,  what  it  is  the  Club  has  in 
mind.  Suppose  we  take  up  these  resolutions  one  at  a 
time.  Have  you  decided  on  your  new  name,  fellows?" 

"We  can't  agree,  sir,"  answered  Tony  Carrari  with 
a  frown. 

"I  don't  wonder,  Tony — a  thoroughly  good  name  is 
usually  born,  not  made.  Some  fellow  will  strike  against 
the  right  thing  suddenly  and  it  will  stick.  Let's  pass 
to  the  second  item.  Perhaps  Captain  Janes  will  tell 
us  whether  it's  against  army  regulations." 

"Certainly  not,  Dr.  Locke,  if  the  boys  have  in  mind 
what  I  suppose  they  have,  a  circle  of  good  fellowship 
and  do  not  intend  a  secret  organization  inside  the  army. 
How  about  it,  Carrari?" 

"Sure,  sir,  that's  all  we  intend,"  answered  Tony, 
respectfully,  rising  to  his  feet. 


THE  SHINERS  143 

"Then  I  hope  you'll  let  me  be  an  honorary  member, 
and  attend  some  of  your  meetings !" 

"What  about  the  Chaplain,  fellows,  when  he  happens 
to  come  along?"  Craig  McRae  was  looking  at  the  boys 
with  hearty  good  will. 

"The  fellows  have  already  voted,  sir,  to  ask  you  to 
our  meetings  when  you  can  spare  the  time." 

"So  much  for  law  and  order !"  laughed  Locke.  "I 
suppose,  Captain,  all  this  would  seem  rather  raw  to  an 
old  school  disciplinarian.  Thank  God,  the  new  Ameri- 
can army  is  built  on  intelligence  and  loyalty." 

"We  must  have  discipline,  you  know,"  replied  the 
Captain,  "but  all  the  same,  the  officers  don't  bullyrag 
the  men — eh,  Tony?" 

Tony  saluted  and  his  dark  eyes  kindled  with  affec- 
tion and  admiration. 

"I'm  going  to  envy  you,  Mac,  and  you,  Captain 
Janes,  when  I  think  of  you  looking  after  my  boys  'over 
there,'  "  said  Locke  with  heartiness.  "My  only  con- 
solation is  that,  maybe,  I'll  have  things  ready  for  them 
when  they  get  back.  And  that  brings  us  to  the  third 
item.  Read  it  again,  Chris,  will  you,  please?" 

The  secretary  picked  up  the  paper  and  read  this 
time  without  the  least  hesitation  or  embarrassment. 

"Resolved  (3)  That  Furniki's  Hall  is  not  a  good  meeting  place, 
and  we  hope  our  director  will  let  us  use  one  of  the  rooms  at  the 
church." 

"Tony,"  said  Locke,  with  a  touch  of  anxiety,  "sup- 
pose you  take  a  minute  to  explain  just  what  the  boys 
have  in  mind;  I  think  you  can  do  it  better  than  I." 

"Well,  Dr.  Locke,  it's  just  this  way,"  began  Tony, 


144      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

rising  once  more.  "This  here  hall  seemed  dandy  and 
fine  when  the  Club  was  first  started.  The  families  in 
this  ward  are  mostly  poor,  and  us  fellows  thought  it 
great  business  to  meet  here  over  Furniki's  and  have  our 
own  clubroom.  Then,  after  awhile,  a  good  many  of  us 
got  to  going  over  to  the  church  on  Sunday  nights  be- 
cause we  liked  Dr.  Locke  and  he  always  made  us 
feel  at  home.  Then  we  found  out  what  a  dinky  little 
room  this  is! 

"After  that  the  draft  came,  and  we  got  all  mixed 
up  with  the  fellows  from  the  east  side.  Those  fellows 
have  got  money  to  burn,  but  they  wear  the  same  uni- 
forms we  do,  and  eat  the  same  grub,  and  have  the  same 
drills.  And  we  used  to  meet  some  of  them  at  church 
too  on  Sunday  nights.  Then  we  got  to  feeling  ashamed 
of  our  dinky  little  hall  because  it  never  could  be  made 
really  clean  and  decent. 

"So  we  thought  we'd  just  ask  Dr.  Locke  to  let  us 
have  our  Club  in  one  of  those  dandy  gallery  rooms  at 
the  church — Michal  Vaso,  the  janitor,  told  us  those 
rooms  were  hardly  ever  used.  We  knew  it  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  get  the  room  for  nothing,  so  we  thought  we'd 
all  do  what  two  or  three  of  us  had  been  doing — just 
pay  our  tithe  right  over  to  the  church  and  kind  'a  link 
up  a  little  closer  with  Dr.  Locke.  I  guess  that's  all, 
sir." 

Rhodin  Curtis  was  tapping  the  arm  of  his  chair  in 
subdued  applause  as  Tony  Carrari  took  his  seat,  but 
he  said  nothing. 

Captain  Janes  sat  with  his  lips  pursed  together. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  straight-standing  old  father, 
the  Doctor — and  wondering.  "Do  you  mean — er — 


THE  SHINERS  145 

that  you  want  to  use  the  church  as  a  regular  clubroom, 
Tony?"  he  asked. 

"Not  the  big  church-room,  sir — just  one  of  those 
rooms  near  the  gallery." 

The  pastor  was  smiling.  "You  remember,  Captain, 
the  tower  stairway  leads  directly  to  them  without  enter- 
ing the  auditorium,"  he  said.  "I  think  the  boys  have 
in  mind  the  big  room  at  the  northwest  corner,  the  one 
directly  over  the  church  offices.  Isn't  that  the  one, 
Tony?"  The  President  of  the  Club  nodded. 

"Would  the  boys — er — have  their  'eats'  there  and 
their  Club  stunts?"  questioned  the  Captain,  a  little 
anxiously.  He  could  not  imagine  his  father  facing  the 
wild  troupe  that  had  dashed  down  the  stairway  an  hour 
before. 

"I  understood,  Captain,"  interposed  Rhodin  Curtis, 
"that  the  boys  wanted  it  for  a  'clubroom;'  and  if  so, 
we  can  fairly  guess  the  rest  of  it."  Rhodin  spoke  with 
his  eyes  on  the  ceiling  and  a  smile  of  amusement  on 
his  face. 

The  Captain  smiled  too,  but  his  thoughts  were  still 
with  the  straight-standing  and  austere  old  Doctor,  who 
would  find  it  difficult  to  think  of  Italian  street  boys 
tearing  through  the  tower  doorway  of  historic  Old 
First — and  the  weenies — and  the  peanuts — and — 

"Some  of  the  boys  smoke  in  the  clubroom,  don't  they, 
Tony?" 

"Not  during  meetings,  sir ;  it's  against  Rule  Three  of 
the  By-Laws — and  the  little  fellows  da'sn't  smoke  at 
all — not  till  they're  eighteen  years  old."  Tony  spoke 
with  the  ardor  of  an  advocate.  Captain  Janes  rubbed 
his  chin  in  perplexity. 


146      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"But,  anyhow,  Tony,"  he  continued,  "do  you  think 
it  would  be  quite  the  thing  to  smoke — er — in  church?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  in  the  big  church-room,  sir — only 
our  clubroom." 

"O,  I  see !"  And  yet  all  that  the  Captain  really  saw 
was  a  hurt  look  in  the  kind,  stern  face  of  the  good  old 
Doctor,  his  father. 

Chaplain  McRae  had  been  crossing  and  uncrossing 
his  legs.  "I'll  have  to  say  this  much,  Captain,"  he 
remarked,  uneasily.  "The  war  is  going  to  put  this  whole 
tobacco  question  right  up  to  the  churches  with  a  new 
big  emphasis.  I  confess  I  don't  quite  see  my  way 
through — " 

"Except  at  one  point,"  interrupted  Locke,  senten- 
tiously.  "Whatever  the  churches  stand  to  gain  or  lose 
in  this  matter,  they  dare  not  lose  the  men !  They'll 
have  to  trust  American  soldiers  to  do  the  right  thing 
with  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ — and  the  boys  will 
follow  the  men." 

Rhodin  Curtis  was  laughing.  "You  preachers  and 
church  people  will  have  to  fight  the  tobacco  question 
among  yourselves — the  man  in  the  street  isn't  inter- 
ested. But  look  here,  Dick,"  glancing  at  a  card  on 
which  he  had  been  making  some  quick  figures,  "that 
tithing  proposition  means  business.  That  gets  hold 
of  me !  Have  you  reckoned  what  it  will  come  to  in  cold 
cash?" 

"Rather!"  answered  Locke  with  a  keen  look,  "but  I 
would  like  to  hear  it  stated  by  a  practical  banker  like 
yourself." 

"Well,  it  will  make  that  Board  of  yours  sit  up  and 
take  notice — I'll  guarantee  that !"  and  Rhodin  squared 


THE  SHINERS  147 

himself  in  his  chair.  "I  know  the  individual  savings 
accounts  of  the  'Boosters'  and  I  have  a  pretty  accurate 
line  on  all  the  others.  The  boys  in  the  army  will  not 
handle  as  much  money  as  they  used  to,  but  it  will  be 
steady  pay." 

"The  fellows  in  camp  want  the  bank  to  receive  their 
tithe  direct  from  the  paymaster.  Can  that  be  ar- 
ranged, Mr.  Curtis?"  asked  Tony,  anxiously. 

"Sure,  Tony!  Just  make  out  the  requisition  form 
in  the  paymaster's  office,  then  send  me  a  list  of  the 
names ;  I'll  give  it  my  personal  attention.  Uncle  Sam 
makes  it  easy  for  soldiers  to  bank  any  part  of  their 
pay.  The  Club  tithe  from  the  army  will  flow  in  like 
government  taxes !  As  for  the  fellows  at  home,  they're 
getting  good,  stiff  wages.  You  say  there  are  thirty 
members,  Dick?" 

"Thirty  'active;'  we  have  a  few  'associate'  members 
who  have  not  yet  taken  the  tither's  pledge." 

"How  many  Juniors?" 

"Eighteen." 

"All  tithers?" 

"Every  boy  of  them — and  the  keenest  of  the  lot !" 

"I  believe  it!  Well,  it's  easy  enough  to  reckon  the 
probable  total  that  the  Club  will  be  turning  over  to  Old 
First  if  this  proposition  goes  through,"  added  Rhodin 
with  another  glance  at  the  card  and  an  added  stroke  or 
two  with  his  pencil.  "It  will  be  a  minimum  of  twenty- 
one  hundred  dollars  during  the  next  year,  and  I'm 
willing  to  venture  my  financial  head  that  it  will  reach 
upwards  of  twenty-five!" 

Locke  laughed  and  the  fellows  looked  at  each  other 
with  keen  enjoyment.  "Chris,  give  Mr.  Curtis  the 


148      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

figures  that  we  have  worked  out  for  ourselves,"  said 
Tony  as  his  eyes  snapped. 

twenty-eight  hundred  and  thirty,"  answered  Chris, 
promptly.  "That's  our  low  estimate,  sir,  and  it's  a 
dead  safe  one!  The  fellows  expect  to  make  it  an  easy 
three  thousand." 

"And  they'll  do  it  too — on  my  word  as  a  banker!" 
and  Rhodin  struck  the  arm  of  his  chair  a  resounding 
blow.  Locke  listened  intently.  Then  he  leaned  forward 
with  a  determined  look. 

"I  believe  in  this  Club  of  yours,  Dick,"  he  said.  "I 
believe  in  it  from  the  ground  up.  They  ought  to  have 
a  decent  place  for  their  meetings,  and,  what's  more  to 
the  point,  there  ought  to  be  a  worth-while  social  center 
for  all  the  decent  folks  in  this  ward.  I'm  no  church- 
man— far  from  it! — and  yet  I'm  frank  to  say  I  don't 
want  to  see  Old  First  used  as  a  clubhouse.  Perhaps 
I'll  turn  round  some  day  and  go  to  church,  and  I 
don't  want  to  smell  tobacco  smoke  in  the  gallery  nor 
oyster  stews  in  the  basement — though  the  latter  is  my 
own  private  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Heustis.  I'm  ready  to 
back  this  proposition — if  this  Club  of  yours  gets  down 
to  brass  tacks !  If  you'll  persuade  Old  First  Board  to 
improve  their  seventy-foot  frontage  on  Fourth  Street — 
if  they'll  put  up  a  first  class  parish  house,  with  wide 
open  doors  for  the  social  needs  of  this  ward,  I'll  match 
the  Club's  offer  dollar  for  dollar,  and  guarantee  that 
the  Club  tithe  won't  fall  below  an  even  three  thousand. 
I'm  ready  to  put  that  in  writing  any  time  you  want, 
and  you  can  count  it  for  a  little  starter  on  your 
Centenary  scheme." 

"Three  cheers  for  Mr.  Curtis !"  called  out  the  Club 


THE  SHINERS  149 

President,  excitedly.  The  ecstatic  lift  of  the  boys' 
voices  brought  old  Pietro  to  his  feet,  who  added  his  own 
guttural  cheering  without  understanding  in  the  least 
what  it  was  all  about. 

"Great  business,  Dickens,  great !"  exclaimed  the 
Chaplain,  gripping  Locke's  hand.  "The  big  victory 
of  your  boys  isn't  going  to  be  in  France,  after  all." 

"And  I'll  guarantee  that  First  Church  will  put  this 
thing  over,"  added  Captain  Janes,  "if  I  have  to  resign 
my  commission  in  the  army  and  make  an  every-member 
canvass  on  my  own  account." 

But  Locke  said  never  a  word. 

"Can't  we  decide  on  a  Club  name,  right  now?"  asked 
Chris  Penito,  who  had  been  scribbling  on  his  secretary's 
pad.  "Then  all  four  of  our  resolutions  will  be  finished." 

"And  a  badge  too,  fellows !" 

It  was  Andy  Cosmi  who  made  this  last  suggestion. 
He  had  been  sitting  with  the  others,  keenly  listening, 
but  venturing  to  take  no  part  in  the  discussions.  The 
presence  of  the  three  visitors  had  been  somewhat  of  a 
restraint.  For  several  minutes  he  had  been  studying 
closely  the  gold  pendant  which  Rhodin  Curtis  habitually 
wore  on  his  broad  silk  watch  fob.  Rhodin  was  a 
Mason,  though  by  his  own  testimony  a  rather  indiffer- 
ent one.  He  wore,  however,  the  jeweled  'ShrinerV 
badge  that  Clara  had  given  to  him. 

"Why  not  have  a  club  badge,  fellows?"  he  repeated. 
"We  could  wear  it  like  Mr.  Curtis  wears  his,  or  on  our 
coat  lapel,"  and  he  looked  enviously  at  the  swinging 
pendant. 

Rhodin  glanced  down  at  his  badge.  "That's  a  good 
stroke,  Cosmi,"  he  laughed,  "and,  while  you're  about 


150      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

it,  you  might  call  yourselves  'The  Shiners !' — By  Jove, 
Dick,  that  wouldn't  be  a  bad  name  either!"  and  he 
turned  toward  Locke  with  genuine  enthusiasm. 

"Shiners !  Shiners !  That's  the  stuff,  fellows !"  Tony 
Carrari  fairly  shouted  it.  "I'm  not  ashamed  that  I 
started  in  as  a  bootblack,  and  most  of  you  fellows  have 
been  in  the  same  business.  We've  been  'shining'  on  State 
Street  since  we  were  little  kids.  We'll  try  to  shine  for 
Uncle  Sam  while  we're  in  the  army,  and  we'll  sure 
enough  put  a  two-in-one  polish  on  the  Kaiser!  All  in 
favor  of  'Shiners'  say  Aye !" 

"Aye!" 

Nine  throaty  yells,  buttressed  by  Pietro's  hoarse 
bellow,  was  proof  enough  that  the  long-awaited  name 
had  been  born  in  due  season. 

As  the  meeting  broke  up,  Locke  stood  a  minute  with 
Rhodin  Curtis  while  the  boys  gathered  about  the  two 
army  officers. 

"You  had  two  inspirations  to-night,  old  man,"  said 
Locke  with  suppressed  eagerness.  "That  subscription 
of  yours  was  great,  Rho,  positively  great! — Are  you 
sure  you  can  afford  it?" — a  little  anxiously — "but 
that  name  'Shiners'  will  be  doing  business  when  our 
Centenary  is  forgotten.  The  Good  Spirit  has  been 
with  us  to-night,  as  sure  as  we  are  men." 

But  Rhodin  did  not  answer  him.  He  was  looking 
absently  at  old  Pietro,  who  was  chuckling  to  himself 
and  gathering  up  the  trays  for  his  pushcart.  He 
turned  abruptly  and  crossed  over  to  the  table. 

"Pietro,"  he  said,  thrusting  something  into  his  hand, 
"look  after  little  Jeemy ;  don't  let  him  get  sick."  He 


THE  SHINERS  151 

did  not  wait  for  Pietro's  answer,  but  turned  back  and 
joined  the  others  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

The  old  vendor  slowly  opened  his  fingers  and  looked 
at  the  ten-dollar  bill  that  Rhodin  had  left  with  him. 
Then  he  put  his  head  against  the  pile  of  trays,  "Ya, 
leetla  Jeem,  Pietro  ees  not  forgat!"  he  choked. 

But  when  he  heard  the  chug  of  the  automobile,  he 
thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window  just  as  Rhodin  was 
stepping  into  his  machine. 

"Ees  all  right,  Meester  Curtiss,"  he  shouted,  huskily, 
"me  good  ondrastan'  an'  ees  not  forgat;  dose  social- 
isma  gon'  do  pritta  tarn  wel,  mebbe !" 

Rhodin  looked  up.  "Sure  thing,  Pietro !"  he 
laughed  as  he  released  the  clutch. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT 

RICHARD  LOCKE  looked  whimsically  at  his  aunt 
across  the  lunch  table. 

"So  you  think,  do  you,  that  I  should  make  my 
'party  call'  before  the  'party'?"  he  questioned. 

"I  think,  Richard,  that  you  should  not  neglect  a 
simple  social  courtesy,"  replied  the  gentle-bred  Miss 
Winthrop.  "If  you  and  Mr.  Curtis  are  leaving  town 
to-morrow,  then  by  all  means  you  should  call  at  Dr. 
Janes's  this  afternoon.  I  would  go  with  you,  but  I 
ought  to  rest,  and  get  ready  for  this  evening's  recep- 
tion." 

"My  dear  Aunt  Precision,  it  shall  be  done  even  as 
you  say,  this  very  afternoon,  though  I'm  frank  to  tell 
you  I'd  rather  take  a  turn  in  the  twelfth  ward  with 
old  Pietro  and  Humpy  Jeem  than  to  sip  Ceylon  tea  in 
Dr.  Janes's  distinguished  drawing  room — and  no  dis- 
respect to  the  wise  and  traveled  Elizabeth." 

"The  Dbctor  is  very  proud  of  his  daughter,  Richard ; 
he  scarcely  spoke  of  any  other  person  the  last  time  he 
was  here.  He  desires  very  much  that  you  should  meet 
her." 

"I  have  met  her,  Aunt  Kate,"  and  Locke  related 
with  much  merriment  the  incident  of  the  young  lady  in 
brown  oxfords  and  modish  skirt,  at  the  door  of  the 
elevator  shaft. 

152 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     153 

But  he  did  not  tell  of  Rhodin's  sudden  outburst  at 
the  Club  lunch — it  seemed  quite  unnecessary  to  perplex 
his  aunt  with  such  idle  romancing.  Nor  did  he  refer 
to  Rhodin's  abrupt  parting,  the  night  before,  which  he 
now  recalled  with  much  perturbation. 

It  had  been  a  silent  drive  from  the  twelfth  ward. 
Captain  Janes  had  driven  the  Chaplain  to  the  suburbs 
and  Locke  and  Rhodin  were  together.  There  was  no 
disposition  to  talk.  When  they  drew  up  in  front  of 
the  parsonage  Rhodin  had  turned  to  him  and  said, 
"Just  a  word,  Dick,  before  you  go  in." 

Locke  had  waited  for  Rhodin  to  speak,  and  then, 
as  he  continued  silent — 

"Mebbe  so  leetla  Jeem  eesa  ondrastan'  some'  t'ings 
pritta  good — eh,  my  frand?"  he  said,  whimsically,  but 
with  an  exultant  lift  in  his  voice.  And  Rhodin  had 
returned  a  like  whimsical  reply:  "Mebbe  so,"  he  said, 
as  one  speaking  out  of  a  cloud,  and  smiled  sadly. 

For  a  moment  or  two  no  other  word  was  spoken,  and 
then  Rhodin  had  turned  toward  him  half  fiercely  as  he 
stood  with  one  foot  on  the  tread-board  of  the  auto- 
mobile. 

"Dick,"  he  said,  "I  wanted  to  add  just  one  more 
word  to  what  I  was  telling  you  concerning  Elizabeth 
Janes.  The  fact  is  she  is  not — that  is,  Clara  and  I 
were  talking  about  it  this  evening  after  dinner,  and 
she  said — you  know — that — Oh — forget  the  whole 
business,  Dick! — Thank  you  for  inviting  me  to  the 
Club  to-night;  they're  dandy  fellows,  and  you're  do- 
ing a  great  work.  Good  night!"  and  the  car  sprang 
forward,  leaving  Locke  at  the  street  curb  speechless 
and  amazed. 


154      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

He  recalled  it  all  with  much  disquiet,  and  did  not 
hear  his  aunt's  interested  query, 

"Do  you  consider  her  very  attractive,  Richard?" 

He  would  have  been  still  more  disquieted  if  he  could 
have  remained  with  his  friend  as  he  drove  at  speed 
limit  through  Park  Road,  straight  into  the  country, 
three,  five,  ten  miles,  and  then  back  again,  at  a  quieter 
pace,  to  the  city  garage.  He  did  not  know— he  never 
knew— that  Rhodin  Curtis  was  fighting  that  night  for 
an  ideal. 

"She  never  meant  to  deceive  you :  forget  it !"  Rhodin 
had  whispered  softly  to  himself. 

But  the  pulsing  of  his  motor  seemed  like  the  echo  of 
a  stifled  sigh  in  his  own  heart. 

As  the  minister  of  Old  First  approached  Dr.  Janes's 
red  brick  mansion  the  puzzling  incidents  of  the  day 
before  crowded  swiftly  into  his  mind.  "Does  he  think 
I  am  a  child?"  he  chafed,  and  he  tried  vainly  to  find 
some  thoroughfare  through  the  perplexing  maze.  .  .  . 
Why  had  Rhodin  Curtis  made  such  gratuitous  sug- 
gestions at  the  Commercial  Club?  What  was  it  he  had 
wanted  to  say  to  him  the  night  before?  Why  had  he 
left  off  so  abruptly?  It  was  irritating,  absurd!  .  .  . 
Richard  Locke  pressed  the  electric  button  at  the 
Doctor's  door,  then  turned  an  intent  look  upon  the  old 
1m  that  stood  beside  the  veranda  steps— he  would  for- 
get the  whole  grotesque  occurrence ! 

And  then  a  ripple  of  laughter  cut  straight  across  the 
blurred  perspective  of  yesterday  and  brought  a  vivid 
realization  of  present  things. 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     155 

"Do  ministers  in  America  always  frown,  Dr.  Locke?" 

"Now,  was  I  frowning,  Miss  Janes?"  he  said,  gaily, 
though  with  a  slight  touch  of  embarrassment.  "Then 
it  must  have  been  because  I  was  seeking  to  fathom  the 
mystery  of  the  human  mind,"  and  he  grasped  Eliza- 
beth's extended  hand  and  followed  her  into  the  old- 
fashioned  reception  hall. 

Another  ripple  of  laughter  answered  him.  "We 
soon  learn  better  than  that  in  India,  Dr.  Locke ;  other- 
wise we  should  perish  of  mental  suffocation!  We  find 
the  human  mind  so  vaguely  mysterious  that  we  don't 
try  to  fathom  it  at  all — we  just  gather  it  in  with  a 
fine-meshed  net." 

Locke  was  noticing  that  Elizabeth's  eyes  were  wells 
of  mirth  when  suddenly  they  changed  and  he  saw  in 
them  a  steadfastness  and  strength  that  made  him  for- 
get his  irritation. 

"It  surely  is  kind  of  you  to  call  so  soon,"  she  said, 
winsomely,  "for  you  must  be  overcrowded  with  parish 
and  public  duties.  I  am  sorry  my  father  cannot  be 
here  until  this  evening,  but  two  of  my  very  dear  friends 
will  add  their  welcome  to  my  own."  They  were  at  the 
door  of  the  drawing  room  as  Elizabeth  continued,  "Of 
course  you  and  Mrs.  Curtis  are  old  friends." 

Clara  Curtis  looked  up  from  the  gray  soldier's  sock 
that  she  was  knitting  and  her  smile  was  unusually 
cordial.  Locke  bowed  with  answering  warmth,  then 
turned  toward  a  tall  figure  bending  over  a  table  in  the 
south  window.  Deep-set  gray  eyes  were  looking  at 
him  as  he  heard  Elizabeth's  words  of  introduction. 

"I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Roberts,  Dr.  Locke;"  and 
then  with  a  naive  turn  of  her  head,  "I  think  I  shall  have 


156      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

to  say  that  Mr.  Roberts  is  the  best  friend  I  have  in  all 
India." 

Richard  Locke  stiffened  slightly,  and  Clara  Curtis, 
who  was  familiar  with  his  cordial  manner,  noticed  with 
interest  that  his  greeting  was  somewhat  formal  and 
reserved. 

The  stranger  acknowledged  Elizabeth's  introduction 
with  unfamiliar  Old-World  dignity.  "Miss  Janes 
honors  me,  sir,  much  more  than  I  deserve."  His  words 
came  with  an  exactness  of  enunciation  that  suggested  a 
man  long  unused  to  his  mother  tongue  and  seeking  to 
pronounce  it  with  scrupulous  precision. 

As  he  lifted  his  head  and  took  Locke's  hand,  the 
latter  observed  that  the  tall  form  was  habitually 
stooped  and  the  piercing  gray  eyes  were  set  in  a  face  of 
mobile  strength  and  sweetness.  A  full,  high  forehead 
was  surmounted  by  thin  wisps  of  sandy  hair.  A  thin, 
wiry  beard  covered  the  hollow  of  his  cheeks  and 
straggled  underneath  the  low,  open  collar.  A  long 
black  coat  hung  loosely  from  his  shoulders  and  his 
bony  hands  protruded  awkwardly  from  wristbands  of 
coarse  Madras  cloth.  It  was  a  figure  saved  from  un- 
couthness  by  an  indefinable  air  of  dignity  and  manhood. 

"Much  more  than  I  deserve,"  he  repeated,  and  the 
smile  that  rested  on  Elizabeth  was  as  though  a  lamp 
had  been  lighted  from  within.  Then  he  turned  again 
to  the  table,  where  evidently  he  had  been  engaged  in 
removing  the  tissue  wrappings  from  some  object  of 
common  interest. 

"It  came  through  the  Customs  without  a  scratch!" 

Mr.  Roberts  was  holding  up  a  gold-enameled  vase 
of  unusual  design  and  workmanship.  "Miss  Janes," 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     157 

he  said,  "I  hope  your  father  will  have  as  much  pleasure 
in  receiving  this  trinket  as  I  have  had  in  securing  it 
and  bringing  it  with  me  from  Bikaneer." 

"O  how  beautiful!"  Clara  Curtis  had  risen  and  was 
standing  beside  Elizabeth  as  the  tall  visitor  slowly 
turned  the  vase  in  his  hands  and  displayed  it  skillfully 
from  every  angle. 

"Indeed  it  is !"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  "and  even  more 
unique  than  it  is  beautiful;  they  can  be  obtained  only 
in  the  desert  far  to  the  south  of  the  Punjab." 

Then  she  turned  to  Locke  with  quick  impulsiveness. 
"I'll  let  you  decide,  Dr.  Locke,  whether  I've  said  more 
than  Mr.  Roberts  really  deserves!"  Her  dark  eyes 
challenged  his  attention.  "I  tried  and  tried  to  get  one 
of  these  rare  Bikaneer  vases  before  leaving  India,  for 
father  had  specially  requested  it,  but  I  failed  utterly. 
I  happened  to  speak  of  my  disappointment  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Roberts — he  was  leaving  India  a  fort- 
night later  than  I,  though  by  a  more  direct  route — 
and  here  a  perfect  specimen  stands  on  our  drawing 
room  table  before  I  have  been  able  to  get  my  own  boxes 
unpacked!  Now,  have  I  been  too  extravagant,  Dr. 
Locke?" 

As  Elizabeth  stood  before  him  with  glowing  cheeks, 
Locke  unconsciously  moved  toward  her.  Clara  Curtis 
was  watching  him  with  curious  interest. 

"I  should  say  that  Mr.  Roberts  is  to  be  envied  that  he 
has  had  opportunity  to  earn  such  sincere  gratitude," 
and  Locke  met  the  challenge  in  her  eyes. 

If  there  was  a  touch  more  of  color  in  Elizabeth's 
face,  as  she  turned  gaily  toward  Clara,  only  that  ob- 
servant friend  could  have  detected  it. 


158      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"I  hope  that  Dr.  Locke  has  not  the  reputation  of 
evading  straightforward  questions."  She  laughed. 

"On  the  contrary,  my  dear,  Dr.  Locke  always  insists 
on  the  exact  and  painful  truth!"  and  Clara  took  up 
her  knitting  with  a  quiet  archness  that  did  not  escape 
the  minister's  attention.  He  was  turning  toward  her 
in  good-natured  repartee  when  the  precisely  spoken 
words  of  Mr.  Roberts  interrupted  him. 

"You  have  made  excellent  reply,  sir;  to  give  her 
pleasure  has  been  my  great  delight.  Many  in  India 
share  with  me  the  high  honor  of  Miss  Janes's  regard." 

Richard  Locke  turned  toward  him  almost  bois- 
terously. "I  am  sure  you  are  right,  sir !"  he  said,  and 
took  the  large  bony  hand  again  in  his  enthusiastic 
grasp.  And  then — "I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  vase 
of  such  peculiar  workmanship,"  and  he  reached  toward 
it  with  impulsive  haste. 

Perhaps  he  did  not  measure  the  distance  accurately, 
perhaps  he  was  unconsciously  elated,  perhaps  the  vase 
was  resting  perilously  near  the  edge — in  any  case  the 
mere  touch  of  Locke's  fingers  sent  it  lightly  over  the 
side  of  the  table.  It  fell  against  a  mahogany  rocker 
with  an  ominous  thud  and  then  rolled  into  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

Clara  Curtis  looked  up  with  a  slight  gasp,  while 
Locke  uttered  an  exclamation  of  distress — "O,  Miss 
Janes,  what  have  I  done !" — and  stood  irresolute. 

But  Elizabeth  was  laughing  merrily.  "It  is  too 
bad  to  give  you  such  a  start;  I  should  have  explained 
that  a  Bikaneer  vase  could  not  be  injured  if  you 
dropped  it  from  the  housetop!"  and  she  picked  it 
deftly  from  the  floor.  "Lift  it,"  she  said. 


"O,  Miss  Janes,  what  have  I  done!" 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     159 

Locke  received  it  cautiously  and  was  surprised  to 
find  it  resting  in  his  hand  like  a  cup  of  cardboard.  He 
turned  it  over  curiously. 

"It  is  a  commentary  on  the  mind  of  the  Indian 
people,  Dr.  Locke." 

The  words  of  Mr.  Roberts  came  more  smoothly  than 
before  and  with  less  effort  at  slow  precision.  The 
luminous  smile  was  lighting  his  face  again.  Locke 
listened  intently. 

"The  mind  of  India  reveres  beauty,"  he  said,  "but 
scarcely  can  it  understand  beauty  apart  from  use — as 
a  costly  tomb,  a  jeweled  temple,  or  a  carved  household 
tabouret. 

"For  instance,"  turning  to  a  bowl  of  fresh  cut  roses 
that  filled  the  room  with  their  pervasive  sweetness,  "one 
will  find  lotus  blossoms  or  clusters  of  fragrant 
oleander  in  an  Indian  home,  but  always  as  a  symbol  of 
worship.  An  Indian  woman  would  not  think  of  bring- 
ing home  cut  flowers  for  the  sake  of  their  beauty 
and  sweetness,  and  the  sweet  shrubs  growing  at  her 
door  are  to  protect  her  and  her  children  against  the 
'evil  eye.'  Even  the  gold  and  silver  ornaments  of  the 
people  are  really  a  convenient  bank  of  deposit  to  hold 
their  surplus  wealth  or  petty  savings." 

He  took  the  embossed  vase  from  Elizabeth  and  held 
it  in  his  capacious  hands  as  he  continued,  gravely : 

"Now,  this  vessel  is  not  intended  as  an  ornament  at 
all ;  it  is  the  traveler's  constant  necessity  in  all  those 
desert  sands  south  of  the  Sutlej.  In  it  he  carries  a 
day's  supply  of  water,  or  a  week's  supply  of  precious 
butter-fat.  Nor  is  it  a  fragile  thing,  as  you  feared 
when  it  fell  from  the  table ;  it  is  fashioned  of  the  tough- 


160      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

est  camel  skin  so  that  it  may  swing  loosely  from  the 
shoulder  and  bear  hard  usage.  For  many  centuries 
the  princes  of  Bikaneer  have  announced  their  rank  and 
displayed  their  wealth  by  using  elaborate  camel-skin 
vessels  such  as  this,  richly  embossed  with  gold  and 
sometimes  set  with  rubies." 

As  the  tall  figure  stooped  over  the  table  and  carefully 
replaced  the  uninjured  vase,  Locke  turned  toward 
Elizabeth  with  eager  words. 

"Mr.  Roberts  certainly  knows  the  gentle  art  of 
friendship,  Miss  Janes,  and  I  want  to  express  my  own 
sincere  gratitude,  along  with  yours." 

"O  splendid,  Dr.  Locke — you  really  have  made 
amends!  And  now,"  as  the  maid  entered  with  a  wide 
malacca  tray,  "you  shall  be  rewarded  with  a  cup  of 
real  Koh-i-noor  from  the  hills  of  South  India." 

The  entrance  of  the  tray  brought  an  easy  social 
turn  to  the  conversation.  While  Elizabeth  deftly  pre- 
pared the  tea  Mr.  Roberts  showed  himself  skillful  in 
dividing  a  spicy  nut  cake  into  thin,  tempting  slices. 
Locke  responded  to  an  engaging  smile  from  Mrs. 
Curtis  and  seated  himself  beside  her  on  the  wide  daven- 
port. 

As  Clara  laid  aside  her  half -finished  knitting  and  ac- 
cepted a  cup  of  the  fragrant  beverage,  her  eyes  shone 
with  unconcealed  admiration. 

"How  I  envy  you  that  Oriental  tray,  Elizabeth,  and 
these  sheer  Lucknow  lapcloths!  Your  tea  service 
seems  wholly  inexpensive,  and  yet  everything  about  it 
is  so  exquisitely  suggestive — it  breathes  an  atmosphere 
of  soft  Indian  repose  even  while  the  tea  is  brewing." 

Locke  knew  that  Elizabeth's  answer  would  come  with 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     161 

low  rippling  laughter — indeed,  he  found  himself  expect- 
ing it,  and  laughing  with  her  in  sympathy. 

"Thank  you,  Clara,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  afraid  your 
theory  of  a  suggestive  and  sympathetic  'atmosphere' 
would  suffer  a  severe  shock  if  this  same  cane-covered 
kettle  should  brew  some  of  the  abominations  that  I 
have  tasted  in  India.  The  tea  itself  is  the  secret; 
selected  Koh-i-noor  is  rather  different  from  bazaar 
sweepings !" 

"Nevertheless,  Miss  Elizabeth,  bazaar  sweepings 
might  make  a  cup  of  ambrosia  for  some  weary  pilgrim 
who  never  had  tasted  the  delights  of  Koh-i-noor.  I'm 
thinking  that  Mrs.  Curtis  is  more  than  half  right,  for 
I  have  found  that  'atmosphere'  is  another  name  for 
'life.'  '  The  deep-set  eyes  of  Mr.  Roberts  were  fixed 
on  Clara  with  kindly  penetration,  and  his  words,  no 
longer  halting,  came  with  smooth  and  flowing  cadence. 

Clara  flushed  with  pleasure.  "O  thank  you,  Mr. 
Roberts !  I  think  it  is  wonderful  how  those  old  Indian 
sages  were  able  to  forget  their  outward  circumstances 
and  live  at  the  hidden  heart  of  things.  If  we  were  able 
to  do  that,  poor  tea,  or  no  tea  at  all,  would  be  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  us.  India  must  be  perfectly  fas- 
cinating !" 

The  penetrating  glance  still  rested  upon  her  and  the 
voice  was  exceedingly  gentle.  "It  is  good  to  hear  you 
speak  so  generously,  Mrs.  Curtis,  of  the  land  and 
people  that  I  love  so  well,"  he  said. 

"O,  indeed,  I'm  truly  fond  of  those  unworldly  old 
pundits  who  seem  so  lost  in  mystic  meditation!"  And 
then  Clara  looked  up  with  a  quizzical  smile.  "I  really 
suppose  they  are  so  indifferent  to  what  we  call  comfort 


162      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

and  discomfort  that  they  would  quite  appreciate  the 
old-fashioned  hymn  that  mother  still  insists  on  sing- 
ing— the  one,  you  know,  that  says  'December's  as 
pleasant  as  May!'  Am  I  not  right,  Mr.  Roberts?" — 
and  Clara's  smile  was  full  of  friendliness. 

There  was  a  gleam  of  mirth  in  the  deep  gray  eyes. 
"Hardly,  Mrs.  Curtis,  for  December  in  India  is  mild 
and  balmy,  while  May  is  tortured  with  the  hot  driving 
winds;  an  Indian  poet  would  have  turned  that  line 
right  about."  Then  the  mirthful  gleam  faded  and  he 
was  searching  Clara's  face  again,  as  if  her  words  were 
troubling  him. 

"But  there  is  a  deep  and  compelling  reason,"  he  con- 
tinued, "why  no  Indian  pundit  ever  could  appreciate 
that  line — it  is  because  he  could  not  understand  the 
line  that  goes  before:  'When  I  am  happy  m  Him.'  The 
Hindu  mind  thinks  of  Deity  as  'principle'  or  'essence' 
or  'force,'  but  never  as  'person.'  Indeed,  that  is  the 
very  heart  of  paganism  whether  ancient  or  modern — 
thinking  of  Deity  in  terms  of  impersonality.  It  ex- 
plains idolatry  and  is  the  underlying  reason  why  a 
great  and  noble  people  have  missed  the  way,  and  why 
India  has  become  the  saddest  land  the  sun  shines  on." 

Locke  finished  his  tea  and  returned  the  cup  to  the 
tray  with  evident  constraint.  Clara  Curtis  sat  per- 
fectly still,  while  a  tinge  of  red  slowly  suffused  her  face. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  what  you  mean  by  pagan- 
ism," she  said,  somewhat  coldly.  "I  know  some  very 
good  people  who  are  not  able  to  think  of  God  as 
'Person.'  Indeed,  many  influential  and  educated 
people  in  America  believe  sincerely  in  a  divine  principle 
of  goodness  rather  than  what  church  members  speak  of 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     163 

as  a  personal  God.  Surely  you  wouldn't  call  such 
people  'pagans,'  Mr.  Roberts!"  and  Clara  looked  up 
with  a  hardly  perceptible  glint  in  her  violet  eyes. 

Elizabeth  gently  intervened:  "O,  Clara,  if  ever  you 
should  live  in  a  pagan  land,  you  would  appreciate  how 
the  very  atmosphere  of  America  is  filled  with  gladness 
such  as  paganism  never  can  understand." 

Clara  looked  at  her  gratefully.  "Thank  you,  dear. 
I'm  sure  it  must  be  so." 

"And  yet,  Miss  Elizabeth" — Mr.  Roberts  was  speak- 
ing with  a  piercing  directness  that  arrested  Clara's 
attention  and  made  Locke  lift  his  eyes.  "And  yet,  a 
fair-minded  missionary  may  be  forgiven,  perhaps,  if 
he  is  disquieted  after  an  absence  of  twenty-seven  years 
from  his  native  land." 

Elizabeth  thoughtfully  refilled  Locke's  emptied  cup, 
but  he  left  it  standing  on  the  tray  untouched.  Clara's 
hand  was  absently  tracing  the  embroidery  on  her  lap- 
cloth. 

"Sometimes  an  observant  stranger  can  tell  us  more 
about  ourselves  than  a  member  of  our  own  household, 
and  perhaps  a  bred-in-the-bone  American,  who  has  lived 
for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  the  deserts  of 
Sind  and  Rajputana,  can  see  some  things  in  American 
life  that  even  'influential  and  educated  people'  might 
not  so  quickly  observe." 

Clara  lifted  her  eyes  and  the  hard  glint  in  them 
melted  into  softness,  for,  resting  on  her,  as  earlier  it 
had  rested  on  Elizabeth,  was  that  strange  sweet  smile 
which  seemed  like  the  lighting  of  a  lamp  within.  Her 
look  remained  fixed  on  his  face  while  Mr.  Roberts  con- 
tinued speaking. 


"There  is  a  curious  though  wide-spread  notion 
among  Americans  that  to  be  a  'pagan'  is  almost  the 
same  as  to  be  a  'barbarian,'  and  yet  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion will  remind  any  intelligent  person  that  nothing 
can  be  farther  from  the  truth."  The  voice  was  mellow 
now,  like  a  time-softened  violin. 

"We  must  not  forget  that  the  great  names  that  have 
molded  human  history,  excepting  a  little  group  in 
ancient  Palestine,  are  pagan  names,"  he  continued — 
"Homer,  Socrates,  Caesar,  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  a 
hundred  others — 'pagan,'  every  one  of  them!  And 
yet  we  must  stretch  ourselves  if  we  would  measure  up 
to  the  high  human  ideals  which  such  names  suggest. 
Cicero  in  the  Senate — it  would  not  impress  you  as  par- 
ticularly 'heathenish' — would  it  now,  Mrs.  Curtis?" 
and  he  looked  at  her  whimsically. 

Clara  smiled,  but  offered  no  reply. 

"Perhaps  you  had  opportunity  to  hear  a  dis- 
tinguished Asiatic  who  visited  America  a  year  or  two 
ago — Rabindranath  Tagore;  do  you  remember  him?" 

"Indeed  I  do — I  was  fascinated  by  him !"  and  Clara's 
lips  parted  pleasantly. 

"I  do  not  wonder  at  all,  Mrs.  Curtis,  for  he  is  a 
high-minded  gentleman  and  a  forceful  thinker.  Yet 
Tagore's  name  never  could  be  listed  with  men  and 
women  who  think  of  God  as  Christians  do — that  is,  in 
terms  of  personal  relationship.  Do  I  make  myself 
clear?" 

Clara  cautiously  inclined  her  head.  "I — I  think  I 
understand  you,"  she  said,  slowly. 

Richard  Locke  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "You  are 
saying  some  familiar  things,  Mr.  Roberts,  but  in  a  new 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     165 

anu  suggestive  way,  and  I  want  to  thank  you  most 
heartily  for  stirring  up  my  own  mind.  It  would  be  a 
sincere  pleasure  to  have  you  address  our  First  Church 
congregation  on  the  inner  meanings  of  paganism.  Do 
you  think  we  may  have  that  opportunity,  sir?" 

Mr.  Roberts  looked  at  him  benignantly,  but  shook 
his  head.  "It  is  a  gracious  courtesy,  Dr.  Locke,  but 
I  fear  I  shall  have  to  give  you  a  negative  answer.  I 
have  not  addressed  an  English-speaking  audience  for 
nearly  thirty  years — not  since  my  graduating  oration 
at  college ;  my  wretched  failure  on  that  occasion  is  still 
one  of  my  poignant  life  memories !" 

"O  do,  please,  Mr.  Roberts !  It  will  be  such  a 
pleasure  for  all  of  us  to  hear  you" — a  vivid  blush  over- 
spread Clara's  face  and  she  left  off  speaking. 
"Pardon  me,  Dr.  Locke,  I  did  not  quite  remember," 
and  she  sat  up  a  little  stiffly. 

But  Locke  answered  heartily:  "Splendid,  Mrs. 
Curtis !  You've  spoken  exactly  as  I  would  have  you. 
I  declare,  I'll  arrange  for  an  address  by  Mr.  Roberts 
if  I  have  to  secure  a  special  order  from  the  Board  of 
Foreign  Missions ! — and  I'll  reserve  the  best  seats  in 
the  house  for  Rho  and  yourself.  You're  a  missionary, 
sir,  sure  enough!"  Locke  was  laughing  and  Clara 
could  not  help  but  join  in  with  him. 

Elizabeth's  dark  eyes  regarded  Clara  tenderly,  but 
her  blithe  words  were  addressed  to  Richard  Locke. 
"See  how  the  magic  of  India  has  made  you  neglect  your 
tea,  Dr.  Locke.  It  is  quite  cold ;  you  must  let  me  pour 
you  another  cup." 

"And  waste  a  whole  lump  of  sugar  in  war  days,  Miss 
Janes? — your  patriotism  needs  a  censor!"  and  Locke 


166      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

gave  her  a  mirthful  look  as  he  lifted  his  cup  and  helped 
himself  to  another  piece  of  nut  cake. 

Mr.  Roberts  turned  his  searching  gray  eyes  full 
upon  him  and  spoke  with  his  former  droll  precision. 
"I  am  wondering,  Dr.  Locke,  where  such  a  person 
might  be  found ;  he  would  indeed  have  to  be  a  paragon 
of  patriotism  and  of  nearly  every  other  virtue  besides. 
I'm  thinking  Miss  Elizabeth  will  have  to  take  her  cue 
from  India." 

Locke  colored  slightly,  but  he  answered,  banteringly, 
"Yes,  it  already  is  well  understood  that  Miss  Janes 
still  'feels  the  East  a'  callin' ' — at  least  our  own  little 
circle  understands  it  so;  it  may  be  permitted,  I  am 
sure,  to  offer  her  our  hearty  congratulations." 

Clara  Curtis  pressed  her  lips  close  together  and 
studied  the  Lucknow  embroidery  in  her  lap ;  but  Eliza- 
beth looked  straight  into  Locke's  face. 

"Thank  you,  Dr.  Locke,"  she  said  with  kindling 
eyes.  "It  has  been  such  gladness  to  know  that  my  home 
circle,  especially  father,  has  accepted  my  altered  plans 
so  cordially;  it  has  made  my  going  back  so  easy.  If 
you  could  but  understand  how  I  have  left  my  whole 
heart  in  India,  you  would  wonder  that  I  am  willing  to 
remain  at  home  for  one  long  year." 

A  puzzled  look  crept  into  Locke's  eyes.  He  had 
expected  a  tacit  or  even  a  frank  admission  of  Eliza- 
beth's engagement,  but  he  hardly  was  prepared  for  so 
full  and  enthusiastic  a  declaration.  It  embarrassed 
him. 

But  Clara  was  alarmed.  Her  one  and  immediate 
purpose  was  to  steer  the  conversation  away  from  such 
hidden  rocks,  and  the  interesting  talk  of  Mr.  Roberts 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     167 

seemed  the  nearest  outlet.  She  turned  toward  him 
with  a  quick,  nervous  motion. 

"Please,  Mr.  Roberts,"  she  said,  half  pleadingly, 
"don't  wait  until  your  public  address  at  the  church. 
Tell  us  now,  right  away,  just  what  the  people  of  India 
believe — and  don't  either  of  you  dare  to  say  a  word 
until  Mr.  Roberts  has  finished! — I'm  so  interested." 

There  was  a  bright  red  spot  in  both  of  Clara's 
cheeks  and  she  leaned  forward  almost  imperiously. 

"'What  the  people  of  India  believe,'  Mrs.  Curtis?" 
— the  precise  questioning  voice  repeated  the  words: 
"I'm  afraid  a  life-time  would  not  be  long  enough  to 
learn  it  all !  Surely,  I  myself  have  not  traversed  that 
cloud-land  of  light  and  shadow."  And  then,  noticing 
the  distressed  look  in  Clara's  eyes — "But  I  think  I 
could  tell  you  in  one  word  why  they  believe  it  all,  both 
the  light  and  the  shadow.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  the 
Hindu  doctrine  called  Maya?" 

"No,"  answered  Clara  with  a  look  of  relief,  "but  it's 
a  fascinating  word  as  you  pronounce  it." 

"And  it's  a  strangely  fascinating  doctrine,  Mrs. 
Curtis;  it  holds  in  one  packed  handful  the  religious 
ideals,  the  moral  character,  and  the  daily  conduct  of 
over  two  hundred  millions  of  the  finest  human  fiber  on 
the  planet,  the  Hindu  people." 

Locke  turned  toward  him  incredulously.  "Hinduism 
in  one  word,  Mr.  Roberts! — the  books  with  which  I 
am  acquainted  seem  to  regard  it  as  rather  a  compli- 
cated system." 

The  piercing  eyes  threw  out  blue  arrows  of  steel. 
"I  have  read  the  books,  sir,  all  of  them! — written  in 
the  artificial  atmosphere  of  schools  and  libraries,  and, 


168      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

as  usual,  setting  the  pyramid  upon  its  apex!  Do  you 
suppose,  sir,  that  any  religion  can  grip  and  hold  the 
multitude  unless  it  is  essentially  simple? 

"You  see,"  turning  again  toward  Clara,  "the  people 
are  what  the  books  call  'pantheists' — though  they 
never  would  call  themselves  by  any  such  cumbrous 
name.  To  them  the  one  and  only  reality  in  all  the 
universe  is  what  they  call  Brahm,  that  is,  the  spiritual 
principle,  the  pervading  cause  and  source  of  all  things. 
Of  course,  this  is  very  mysterious,  and  only  the  learned 
pundits  try  to  understand  it. 

"But  Maya  is  different,  and  Maya  is  recognized  by 
the  simplest  villager.  It  means  'Illusion'  or  'Something 
Unreal,'  and  this  is  the  Hindu's  whole  philosophy  of 
life.  He  may  worship  a  thousand  gods  in  ignorance 
and  fear,  but  Maya  is  the  one  little  place  in  his  life 
where  he  thinks.  You  know  that  is  the  only  place  that 
any  human  being  really  lives — back  where  he  thinks ! 

"For  instance,  a  tree,  a  rock,  a  river — these  are  not 
real!  they  are  only  shapes  and  appearances.  They 
are  the  outward  signs  of  something  mysterious — some- 
thing which  the  people  cannot  see,  and  cannot  under- 
stand. That  Something  is  Brahm.  But  these  objects 
themselves  are  Maya — Illusion.  And  so  it  is  with  the 
facts  of  experience,  such  as  pain,  trouble,  sickness — 
these  are  mere  unpleasant  appearances  and  have  no 
actual  existence  at  all!  Therefore  deny  them,  or  be 
indifferent  to  them.  They  are  not  real ;  they  are  Maya 
— Illusion." 

Clara's  face  had  become  a  study.  Courteous  atten- 
tion changed  to  keen  interest  and  interest  grew  to  sheer 
amazement. 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     169 

"Why,  Mr.  Roberts,"  she  exclaimed,  "is  it  possible 
that  the  Hindu  people  are  able  to  grasp  spiritual  teach- 
ing such  as  that  ?" 

"I  would  not  call  it  'teaching,'  Mrs.  Curtis.  If  that 
were  the  case,  the  millions  of  untaught  villagers  never 
could  understand  it.  I  would  call  it  an  atmosphere, 
or  rather,  an  unconscious  mental  attitude.  It  has 
been  passed  down  from  parent  to  child,  during  many 
generations,  until  it  has  become  a  mental  habit  and  is 
wrought  into  Hindu  character." 

"It  certainly  is  a  beautiful  way  of  thinking,  Mr. 
Roberts,  and  the  Hindus  must  be  a  wonderful  and  high- 
minded  people  after  all." 

"Wonderful  they  are,  Mrs.  Curtis,  and  high-minded 
in  many  ways — gentle,  patient,  strong  to  suffer.  Yet 
it  is  these  same  spiritual  conceptions  that  have  been 
their  undoing.  The  ancient  Aryans  were  a  virile  and 
open-minded  people,  but,  back  yonder  in  the  early 
centuries,  this  subtle  teaching  of  Brahm  and  Maya 
began  to  spread  among  them  until  they  no  longer  were 
able  to  distinguish  between  truth  and  falsehood." 

He  turned  toward  Richard  Locke.  "This  is  where 
the  'complicated  system'  begins,  Dr.  Locke;  you  see 
the  source  of  it  is  rather  simple,  after  all.  A  mis- 
sionary's business  is  to  get  at  the  heart  of  things — 
otherwise  he  would  face  a  hopeless  task." 

Locke  answered  with  a  keen  look.  "I  get  you, 
Mr.  Roberts ;  you  have  opened  a  whole  new  hemisphere 
to  me.  I  shall  re-read  some  of  my  volumes  on  India." 

But  Clara  was  filled  with  excitement.  "I  do  not 
understand  you  at  all,  Mr.  Roberts.  Of  course,  I 
know  that  Hindus  are  pagans  and  idolaters,  but  I  fail 


170      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

to  get  the  connection  between  falsehood  and  what  you 
call  Maya — which,  I  am  perfectly  frank  to  say,  seems 
to  me  the  easiest  and  most  Christian  way  of  explaining 
a  great  many  horrid  things !"  and  Clara  gave  a  quick 
downward  glance  toward  Richard  Locke. 

"Perhaps  I  can  illustrate  what  I  mean,  Mrs.  Curtis," 
and  the  long  awkward  arm  stretched  toward  the  center 
of  the  room.  "Suppose  I  should  ask  you — 'How  far  is 
it  from  the  end  of  the  davenport  to  the  piano?'  The 
natural  habit  of  your  mind  would  be  to  judge  the 
distance,  or  to  measure  it,  before  you  answered  me — 
would  it  not?  That  is  to  say:  Here  are  two  solid 
pieces  of  furniture  and  the  distance  between  them  is 
something  definite  and  real,  quite  easy  to  determine." 

The  quizzical  smile  was  in  his  eyes  again.  "But 
suppose  we  were  all  dream-people,  like  those  that  Alice 
saw  in  'Wonderland.'  Suppose  the  davenport  and  the 
piano  were  parts  of  some  changing  mirage,  something 
unreal  and  shadowy;  then — don't  you  see? — your 
natural  reply  would  be  to  say  lightly,  'O,  it  is  ten  feet, 
fifteen,  twenty,  what  you  will!'  That  is,  any  figure 
that  you  might  name  would  be  just  as  true  as  any 
other  figure.  It  doesn't  matter  at  all,  you  see;  the 
distance  is  bound  to  be  unreal  in  any  case,  because  the 
furniture  itself  is  unreal. 

"Now,  suppose  that  this  should  become  the  habit  of 
your  mind,  and  that  you  should  teach  such  ideas  to 
your  little  boy.  Suppose  he  grew  up  in  such  an  atmos- 
phere. His  strong,  beautiful  nature  would  be  warped 
from  the  truth  and  he  would  never  know  it." 

The  little  company  had  become  very  quiet,  and  Clara 
Curtis  was  sitting  back  with  a  startled  look  in  her  eyes. 


THE  VOICE  OUT  OF  THE  DESERT     171 

Mr.  Roberts  moved  on,  not  knowing  that  every  word 
cut  like  a  whip-lash. 

"Lord  Curzon  made  a  curious  blunder  during  his 
second  term  as  viceroy.  In  a  public  address  of  some 
importance  he  urged  the  people  to  exalt  truth  and 
honor,  and  then,  with  rare  tactlessness,  suggested  that 
frequently  they  were  'mendacious.'  Of  course  there 
was  great  resentment  and  the  viceroy  lost  much  of  his 
popularity.  And  yet  Lord  Curzon  had  not  misjudged 
the  people ;  his  mistake  was  in  thinking  that  the  people 
would  be  able  to  judge  themselves. 

"And  this  is  the  pitiful  tragedy  of  it  all — India  does 
not  know.  Mental  attitude  has  become  moral  atrophy. 
Deception  is  not  recognized  as  a  vice,  it  is  merely  an 
illusion  of  words,  corresponding  to  an  illusion  of 
fact.  A  lie  or  the  truth — it  matters  not;  both  alike 
are  the  measure  of  Maya:  both  are  unreal.  As  Paul 
wrote  to  the  Romans,  they  have  changed  the  truth  of 
God  into  a  lie,  and  know  it  not." 

Richard  Locke  caught  a  glimpse  of  Clara's  white, 
drawn  face  and  rose  hastily.  "I  declare,  Miss  Janes, 
my  ten-minute  call  has  stretched  into  a  visit !  India  is 
too  enticing  a  theme  for  short-order  conversation." 

"Then  India  shall  be  the  theme  whenever  you  can 
make  it  convenient  to  call,  Dr.  Locke,"  returned  Eliza- 
beth with  cordial  frankness.  He  thanked  her  warmly 
and  turned  toward  Clara  Curtis. 

"Good-by,"  he  said,  very  gently;  he  knew  that  she 
could  bear  no  further  word. 

Mr.  Roberts's  penetrating  look  was  searching  his 
face  as  Locke  turned  toward  him. 

"Young  man," — the  long  form  unfolded  itself  and 


172      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

stooped  toward  him — "how  did  you  escape  being  a  mis- 
sionary?— you  have  the  missionary  marks,  sir!" 

Locke  laughed,  "Perhaps  it  may  interest  you  to 
know  that  I  was  a  missionary  volunteer  when  I  left 
college." 

"And,  like  a  good  many  other  'volunteers,'  you 
thought  that  signing  a  note  was  equivalent  to  laying 
down  the  cash!  Well,  if  you  succeed  in  carrying  out 
your  Centenary  program — if  you  will  help  the  people 
at  Old  First  to  see  Stewardship  as  a  Christian  interpre- 
tation, I  will  forgive  you" — and  the  grim  visage  re- 
laxed and  he  took  Locke's  hand  in  his.  Suddenly  his 
grip  tightened. 

"Dr.  Locke — do  you  know  what  you're  doing?  Do 
you  know  that  Stewardship  is  a  re-statement  of  first- 
century  Christianity,  in  terms  of  modern  life?  Think 
it  through,  Locke — think  it  through!"  and  Mr. 
Roberts  turned  from  him  abruptly  and  picked  up  a 
magazine  from  the  table. 

Locke  moved  into  the  reception  hall  and  took  his 
hat.  "Miss  Janes,"  he  said,  with  feeling,  "this  after- 
noon has  meant  more  to  me  than  I  am  at  liberty  to 
explain." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes.  "I  think  I  understand, 
Dr.  Locke,  and  I  am  glad — for  dear  Clara's  sake — 
and  for  yours.  I  hope  you  will  come  again,"  and  she 
held  out  her  hand. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Janes,  I  will." 

As  he  walked  down  the  stone  flagging  to  the  street 
he  had  a  strange  sense  of  elation.  And  yet  he  sighed 
— twice.  He  could  not  have  answered  why,  for  he  was 
very  glad. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
CROSS  CURRENTS 

SANFORD  KENNEDY  stood  in  Dr.  Janes's  spa- 
cious library  and  looked  quizzically  through  the 
open  doorway  into  the  drawing  room  where  a  half- 
dozen  of  the  younger  set  were  grouped  about  the  piano 
trying  over  the  latest  English  war  song. 

"I  suppose  we  Americans  are  paying  the  price  of 
efficiency." 

His  quizzical  remark  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Heustis, 
who  sat  comfortably  knitting  just  inside  the  library 
door. 

"How  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Kennedy?" 

"Well,"  the  lines  in  his  face  were  all  laughter  to- 
night, "we  are  forgetting  how  to  talk.  We  think  of 
talk  as  practically  a  waste  product ;  if  indulged  at  all  it 
must  be  short  and  to  the  point.  When  we  go  out  for 
an  evening  we  find  it  hard  to  get  away  from  the  notion 
that  we  must  be  provided  for  as  children  are :  we  must 
be  'entertained.' ' 

Mrs.  Heustis  laughed.  "I  declare,  Mr.  Kennedy, 
one  never  would  suspect  it!  Your  description  of  the 
roads  in  Algeria  has  been  perfectly  fascinating,  and 
I've  heard  Stoddard  at  his  best." 

"Tut,  tut!  my  good  neighbor,  I'm  too  old  to  be 
taken  by  any  such  wiles!  I  assure  you  I  haven't 
spoken  of  that  trip  of  mine  more  than  twice  in  the  past 

173 


174      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

five  years.  There  must  be  something  in  the  atmos- 
phere to-night  that  started  me  going." 

"I  think  you're  right  in  that,  Mr.  Kennedy.  Every- 
one seems  to  have  had  a  mental  refurbishment.  I 
actually  found  myself  repeating  a  stanza  of  Childe 
Harold  while  you  were  talking!" 

"It's  the  doctor's  daughter — you  may  be  sure  of 
that!  Come  to  think  of  it,  don't  you  remember  how 
she  blew  past  ten  minutes  ago,  and  stopped  just  long 
enough  to  point  out  that  Review  article  on  the  military 
roads  of  India? — yes,  sir,  the  brown-eyed  jade! — and 
said  she'd  heard  of  my  auto  trip  and  thought  the 
wonderful  macadam  roads  of  North  Africa  must  be 
equal  to  the  roads  of  India.  By  the  time  she  drifted 
over  to  those  youngsters  at  the  piano  I  was  gossiping 
about  that  Mediterranean  trip  of  mine — and  wonder- 
ing what  in  the  world  had  started  that  old  song !" 

Mrs.  Heustis  laid  down  her  knitting  and  smiled  in- 
dulgently. "Isn't  Elizabeth  dear?"  she  said. 

"And  there  she  is  now,"  he  went  on  laughing,  "fairly 
fascinating  Gilbert ! — telling  him  of  Calcutta  exchange, 
I  warrant.  Who  is  the  stoop-shouldered  old  man  she's 
introducing?" 

"Oh,  that's  John  Roberts  from  the  Punjab.  He 
went  out  to  India  more  than  twenty-five  years  ago,  and 
this  is  his  first  furlough.  He  has  a  perfectly  wonder- 
ful story!  He  still  calls  me  'teacher,'  for  I  knew  him 
when  he  was  a  mere  boy — when  he  went  to  district 
school  years  ago  in  southern  Indiana.  He's  fully  ten 
years  younger  than  I  am,  so  you  mustn't  call  him  'old,' 
Mr.  Kennedy." 

"Sarah  Heustis,  how  many  more  noble  deeds  are  to 


CROSS  CURRENTS  175 

be  credited  to  your  account?  You  make  my  own  life 
seem  narrow." 

"It  wasn't  always  narrow,  Sanford.  Caleb  used  to 
call  you  his  'Joshua,'  you  remember." 

"Caleb  Heustis  was  God's  prince!" 

Then  Sanford  Kennedy,  who  had  been  watching  the 
assembled  guests,  smiled  grimly  and  moved  aside.  "I 
reckon  the  schoolboy  knows  his  own  schoolma'am — 
your  missionary  is  headed  straight  for  you." 

Mrs.  Heustis  reached  out  both  her  hands.  "I'm  so 
glad  you're  here,  John;  I'm  sure  you're  having  a 
pleasant  evening.  Elizabeth  has  been  lionizing  you, 
no  doubt,  as  you  deserve."' 

The  deep  gray  eyes  were  glowing.  "All  I  can  say, 
Mrs.  Heustis,  is  that  Miss  Janes  is  a  perfect  embodi- 
ment of  what  our  Hindustani  people  call  'hikmat.'  ' 

"Mercy,  John,  what  ever  can  you  mean  by  that? — 
though  I'm  sure  it  must  be  something  wonderful  and 
rare  if  it  is  meant  to  describe  Elizabeth!  I  want  you 
to  meet  my  old  friend,  Sanford  Kennedy,  and  then" — 
as  the  two  men  shook  hands  cordially — "I  want  you 
to  sit  right  here  beside  me  and  tell  me  what  you  meant 
by  that  far-sounding  word." 

John  Roberts  seated  himself  awkwardly  on  the  edge 
of  the  divan. 

"You  have  sensed  my  meaning  exactly,  Mrs.  Heustis. 
' Hikmat'  is  one  of  those  elastic  words  in  the  Hindustani 
language  which  already  is  packed  full  of  meaning  and 
yet  will  carry  as  much  more  as  you  yourself  are  able 
to  crowd  into  it — provided  you  do  not  try  to  load  it 
with  anything  unkind  or  unhappy  or  untrue. 

"The  word,  as  used  colloquially  by  the  people,  means 


176      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

'wisdom'  and  'knowledge*  and  'cleverness,'  yet  always 
charged  and  suffused  with  just  a  touch  of  'mystery;' 
then  it  stands  for  'skill'  or  'management,'  which  is  its 
most  common  usage ;  but  with  all  its  different  shades  of 
meaning  the  word  carries  with  it  a  constant  back- 
ground of  'prudence'  and  a  present  understanding  of 
'art' — true  art,  that  never  obtrudes  itself  yet  never 
is  forgotten.  And  that  is  'hikmat.' ' 

"Why,  John,  you  actually  have  painted  Elizabeth's 
portrait!"  said  Mrs.  Heustis  with  enthusiasm. 

"And  a  charming  portrait  at  that,"  was  the 
merchant's  hearty  comment. 

"At  least  a  very  sincere  portrait  of  a  strong  and 
beautiful  woman,"  added  Roberts.  "Miss  Janes 
seemed  to  learn  the  mind  of  India  as  if  by  instinct. 
Her  five  years  of  service  meant  more  than  five  and 
twenty  would  mean  for  one  less  sympathetic." 

"How  beautiful  of  you  to  say  it — and  how  fortunate 
that  Elizabeth  will  be  at  home  during  our  Centenary 
year!  Dr.  Locke  has  plans,  you  know,  to  enlarge 
the  work  of  the  church,  and  foreign  missions  are  very 
near  to  his  heart.  Elizabeth  will  be  so  interested." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Heustis,  I  have  heard  something  of  Old 
First's  Centenary  program,  and  it  has  lifted  me,  I 
assure  you." 

"You  mean  'Richard  Locke's  Centenary  program,' 
Mr.  Roberts !  It  is  by  no  means  certain  that  our  en- 
thusiastic pastor  will  be  able  to  carry  the  Board  with 
him.  It  sounds  rather  fantastical  to  some  of  us,  espe- 
cially during  these  days  of  the  great  war."  Sanford 
Kennedy  spoke  kindly,  but  with  unmistakable  emphasis. 

Mrs.  Heustis  turned  toward  him  in  genuine  aston- 


CROSS  CURRENTS  177 

ishment.  "Do  you  mean  to  suggest,  Mr.  Kennedy, 
that  anyone  is  opposed  to  the  celebration  of  Old  First 
Centenary?  Why,  it  has  been  publicly  announced  for 
more  than  a  year!" 

"Certainly  no  one  can  be  opposed  to  observing  a 
very  interesting  anniversary.  But  Mr.  Roberts  re- 
ferred to  Old  First's  Centenary  'program'  and  you 
yourself  mentioned  Dr.  Locke's  Centenary  'plans' — a 
very  different  matter,  I  assure  you!" 

"But,  Mr.  Kennedy,  I  have  supposed  that  the 
Centenary  'plans'  and  the  Centenary  'celebration'  are 
one  and  the  same  thing.  The  church  is  becoming  really 
interested,  and  it  will  be  a  serious  disappointment  if 
the  Board  fails  to  give  us  the  leadership  that  we  ex- 
pect. Is  there  real  opposition?" 

"No,  no — 'opposition'  hardly  is  the  word;  perhaps 
it  is  anxiety,  lest  the  church  should  appear  to  be  with- 
holding part  of  its  support  from  the  vast  war  program 
of  the  government." 

"Who  ever  could  have  such  a  notion?" 

"Well,  Gilbert  for  one.  In  fact,  he  and  I  had  a 
conference  with  Dr.  Locke  at  the  bank,  yesterday 
morning,  and  the  whole  ground  was  pretty  well  covered. 
The  pastor  has  undertaken  to  make  a  full  presentation 
of  Old  First  Centenary,  as  he  conceives  it,  at  our  next 
Board  meeting.  In  my  opinion,  if  Dr.  Locke  would 
consent  to  eliminate  one  unfortunate  part  of  his  pro- 
gram there  would  be  little  difficulty  in  securing  the 
Board's  acquiescence  in  all  the  rest." 

"What  part,  Mr.  Kennedy?" 

"Tithing." 

John  Roberts's  piercing  eyes  were  turned  full  upon 


178      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

him.  "Would  a  builder  consent  to  eliminate  his  founda- 
tion?" he  asked,  quietly. 

The  merchant's  answer  was  with  a  touch  of  impa- 
tience. "O,  I  am  not  opposed  to  tithing,  Mr.  Roberts. 
I  consider  it  the  best  method  of  providing  funds  for  the 
church.  In  my  younger  days  I  myself  found  great 
satisfaction  in  the  practice.  Nevertheless  I  hardly 
would  call  it  a  'foundation.'  Church  funds  must  be 
secured  in  other  ways,  so  far  as  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
people  are  concerned.  Comparatively  few  will  become 
tithers,  and  fewer  still  will  maintain  the  practice." 

"But  the  'tithe'  is  not  concerned  primarily  with 
church  funds,  Mr.  Kennedy." 

"Not  concerned? — why,  that's  the  very  heart  of  the 
business !" 

"O,  not  the  heart  of  it,  sir ! — God  himself  is  the  heart 
of  it.  The  'tithe'  reveals  the  marvelous  secret  of  per- 
sonality, which,  from  the  beginning,  has  been  hidden 
away  in  property." 

Mrs.  Heustis  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "Please,  John, 
say  that  again.  It  seems  to  me  that  Old  First  is  on 
the  way  to  some  wonderful  discovery.  I  feel  it  near 
me,  and  yet  I  cannot  seem  to  grasp  it." 

"I  said,  Mrs.  Heustis,  that  personality  is  the  other 
name  for  property — and  that  is  why  God  himself  is  the 
hidden  heart  of  the  'tithe.' '  The  voice  was  very 
gentle. 

"I  fancy  I  know  what  you  mean,  John,  although  I 
don't  know  how  to  express  it.  When  I  set  apart  the 
tithe  of  my  monthly  allowance  from  the  estate  it  is  as 
though  my  husband  and  I  were  still  worshiping  to- 
gether, and  whenever  I  draw  a  check  it  is  as  though 


CROSS  CURRENTS  179 

Caleb's  strong  spirit  were  still  personally  at  work  in 
this  city.  It  is  my  constant  inspiration  and  has  made 
widowhood  almost  a  joy.  But  why,  John,  is  tithing 
so  often  referred  to  as  a  'financial  plan'  ?" 

"For  the  same  reason,  I  suppose,  that  many  good 
people  speak  of  honesty  as  'the  best  policy.'  The 
practical  advantage  of  it  actually  obscures  the  living 
heart  of  it — a  tribute,  no  doubt,  to  the  common  sense 
of  our  day,"  and  the  gray  eyes  twinkled  merrily. 

Sanford  Kennedy  turned  slowly  in  his  chair.  "I 
suppose  the  mind  of  a  missionary  out  yonder  in  the 
Orient  turns  naturally  to  the  dreamy  side  of  religion. 
But  if  you  remain  very  long  in  America,  Mr.  Roberts, 
you  will  discover  that  we  have  little  time  for  dreams  and 
visions;  religion,  like  business,  is  a  very  practical 
affair." 

As  John  Roberts  looked  through  the  open  doorway 
his  eyes  rested  on  Elizabeth,  and,  for  a  passing  moment, 
his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  "dreamy"  days  of  a  mis- 
sionary on  service — to  his  own  crowded  years  of  trench- 
digging  and  foundation-laying,  down  at  the  beginnings 
of  a  new  civilization.  Those  hidden  years !  But  he  only 
laughed  and  answered: 

"Yes,  we  sleep  out  under  the  stars  for  ten  months  in 
the  year  and  learn  to  dwell  among  those  spiritual  forces 
out  of  which  our  life  has  developed.  I  suppose  you 
might  call  them  'dreams  and  visions' — the  kind  we  shall 
both  be  dreaming,  Mr.  Kennedy,  a  hundred  years  from 
now.  Really  I  seem  to  have  the  advantage  of  you  in 
getting  used  to  Things  as  they  Are." 

The  merchant  started  slightly,  then  answered, 
wearily:  "A  hard-driven  business  man  is  quickly  cured 


180      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

of  illusions,  and  'Things  as  they  Are'  is  the  only  gospel 
that  he  believes." 

"So  I  should  think,  Mr.  Kennedy;  that  is  why  a 
hard-driven  business  man  is  bound  to  see  how  the 
principle  of  the  tithe  touches  the  foundations  of  prop- 
erty itself." 

And  then,  as  simply  as  though  he  were  speaking 
to  a  Punjabi  grain  merchant,  the  missionary  leaned 
familiarly  toward  Sanf ord  Kennedy  and  asked : 

"Would  you  hesitate  under  favorable  conditions  to 
enlarge  your  business  by  the  use  of  borrowed  capital? 
—that  is,  if  your  business  required  it,  would  you  hesi- 
tate to  secure  a  bank  loan  ?" 

The  merchant  looked  at  him  keenly  and  then  his  eyes 
turned  curiously  toward  Rhodin  Curtis,  who  at  that 
moment  was  entering  the  drawing  room. 

"Certainly  not,"  he  said. 

"And  would  you  expect  to  pay  interest?" 

"Certainly." 

"Why?" 

"O,  custom,  custom,  Mr.  Roberts!"  with  good- 
natured  indulgence.  "It's  like  paying  rent,  you  know ; 
you're  using  property  that  belongs  to  another  person 
and  you  must  acknowledge  it." 

"Then  you  hardly  would  say  that  the  primary  reason 
for  paying  interest  is  to  provide  funds  for  keeping  up 
the  expenses  of  the  bank." 

The  creases  in  Sanford  Kennedy's  face  were  sharp 
drawn  for  a  moment,  then  softened  into  sportive  lines 
of  laughter.  "I  reckon,  sir,  you  caught  me  that  time ! — 
I  did  not  know  that  missionaries  were  so  keen  in  prac- 
tical finance.  It's  your  score,  Mr.  Roberts ! — and  I'm 


CROSS  CURRENTS  181 

not  slow  to  get  your  implication  regarding  the  tithe. 
It's  a  staggering  proposition  and  I'll  have  to  stand 
back  and  look  at  it  awhile.  Anyhow,  I'll  think  twice 
before  I  make  reference  to  the  dreamy  life  of  a  mis- 
sionary." 

"But  missionaries  are  dreamers,  Mr.  Kennedy!  O, 
I  dream  of  spacious  days  for  the  Church  of  God,  when 
meagerness  and  narrowness  shall  have  passed  away  and 
large  things  shall  be  planned  for  the  Kingdom — days 
that  are  nearer  than  any  of  us  have  yet  dared  to 
believe." 

The  deep-set  gray  eyes  burned  like  cavern  fires,  and 
the  stooping  shoulders  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"Sir!"  he  exclaimed  with  sudden  vehemence,  "is  it  too 
much  to  expect  that  men  of  honor  will  acknowledge 
God's  supreme  ownership  as  they  do  the  derived  owner- 
ship of  other  men?  Is  it  too  much  to  expect  that 
such  men  will  administer  their  stewardship  as  men  of 
honor  administer  a  trust  from  other  men?" 

"Do  you  mean  in  the  distribution  of  their  tithe?" 

"The  tithe,  sir,  is  not  the  expression  of  a  man's 
stewardship  but  the  acknowledgment  of  it — a  sure 
token  that  the  whole  of  income  is  a  trust." 

Sanford  Kennedy  did  not  answer,  but  sat  with  his 
eyes  intently  fixed  upon  the  missionary's  face. 

"John" — Mrs.  Heustis  was  speaking — "I  want  you 
to  finish  what  you  began  to  say  about  'property  and 
personality.'  What  you  have  just  said  to  Mr.  Ken- 
nedy is  plain  business,  and  perfectly  easy  to  under- 
stand. But  you  spoke  something  a  little  while  ago  that 
thrilled  me — something  that  reached  into  the  mystery 
of  life  itself." 


182      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Heustis,  property,  whether  great  or  small, 
is  the  unfolding  of  the  human  spirit.  Human  dominion 
is  the  one  attribute  which  makes  us  know  that  we  are 
made  in  God's  own  image." 

Elizabeth's  voice  came  through  the  open  doorway — 
"No,  I  can't  undertake  to  produce  my  lion  at  will,  but 
come  into  the  library;  perhaps  we  shall  find  him 
there";  and  then— "Why,  Mr.  Roberts,  half  the 
people  here  are  waiting  to  be  introduced  to  you,  so 
please  prepare  yourself  for  the  ordeal  to  which  I  shall 
lead  you!" 

"An  ordeal  it  would  be,  Miss  Janes,  were  hands  less 
gentle  than  yours  to  lead  me  to  it."  John  Roberts 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  turned  expectantly  toward  a 
bright-eyed  little  woman  in  a  fussy  dress  of  orange 
silk,  who  had  entered  the  room  with  Elizabeth. 

"Such  a  pretty  speech  as  that,  Mr.  Roberts,  makes 
it  particularly  easy  for  me  to  introduce  Mrs.  Craig 
McRae,  president  of  the  Missionary  Union,  who  feels 
already  that  she  knows  you."  The  missionary  bowed 
stiffly  and  looked  away. 

"Welcome  to  America,  sir !  It  surely  is  an  honor  to 
meet  one  of  whom  we  missionary  leaders  at  home  have 
heard  so  much.  Please  go  right  on  with  what  you 
were  saying.  I  myself  hate  to  be  interrupted  when 
I'm  in  the  midst  of  an  interesting  discussion.  What 
•were  you  talking  about,  Mr.  Roberts? — the  Vedanta 
Philosophy?  I  think  it's  perfectly  fascinating!  Go 
right  on  with  what  you  were  saying  and  don't  let  me 
interrupt  you." 

John  Roberts  looked  helplessly  at  the  orange  silk 
and  ventured  no  reply.  Mrs.  Heustis  answered. 


CROSS  CURRENTS  183 

"We  were  speaking  of  the  Centenary  at  Old  First, 
Mrs.  McRae,  and  some  of  Dr.  Locke's  Centenary 
plans." 

"O,  that  ridiculous  Centenary!  Dr.  Locke  is  per- 
fectly morbid  about  it.  Just  think  of  going  out  to 
raise  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  when  everybody  is 
burdened  to  death  with  all  these  war  charities.  Mr. 
McRae  hesitated  to  ask  the  people  for  the  regular 
missionary  offering  this  year ;  he  thinks  our  whole  busi- 
ness is  to  win  the  war — and  he's  going  over  to  help  win 
it  too !  Rose  Copley  and  he  nearly  quarreled  about  it, 
for  Mr.  McRae's  cousin  is  devoted  to  Old  First.  By 
the  way,  where  is  Rose,  Mrs.  Heustis?  I  haven't 
seen  her  this  evening." 

Mrs.  Heustis  looked  up  with  interest.  "She  went 
down  to  the  Italian  quarter  with  Dr.  Locke.  A  dear 
little  cripple  boy  rang  the  bell  about  eight  o'clock,  just 
as  we  were  starting  for  the  reception.  He  was  crying, 
and  said  his  mother  was  very  sick.  Dr.  Locke  was 
waiting  in  his  runabout,  and  they  all  drove  away  to- 
gether. Rose  thought  the  poor  woman  was  dying,  but 
she  hoped  to  be  here  before  the  evening  is  over." 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Mrs.  Heustis!"  Elizabeth  spoke  in  a 
low,  tender  voice ;  a  soft  light  was  in  her  eyes. 

But  Mrs.  Craig  McRae  lifted  her  brows  archly. 
"I'm  thinking  that  Richard  Locke  and  Rose  Copley  are 
quite  comfortable  over  it,  Miss  Janes.  Of  course,  it's 
sad  when  those  poor  Italians  die  and  leave  little  sick 
children — though  I  must  say  they're  doing  it  con- 
stantly! but  the  pastor  of  Old  First  and  the  Social 
Work  secretary  must  find  it  rather  congenial  to  be  the 
chosen  comforters  of  the  poor.  I,  myself,  think  it  is 


184      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

very  beautiful,  for  both  of  them  are  utterly  devoted  to 
the  work.  Of  course  any  announcement  would  be  pre- 
mature, but  I  happen  to  know  that  matters  are  moving 
very  happily  in  that  quarter,  very  happily  indeed.  So 
you  needn't  be  at  all  distressed,  Miss  Janes,  if  the 
pastor  is  unduly  late  this  evening,"  and  the  voluble 
little  woman  smiled  naively  into  Elizabeth's  face. 

John  Roberts  straightened,  and  his  eyes  had  a  steely 
glint  to  them  as  he  spoke  out  sharply,  "I'm  quite  at 
your  service,  Miss  Janes." 

Elizabeth  looked  up  gratefully  and  took  his  arm. 
As  she  moved  toward  the  drawing  room  she  glanced 
back  for  a  moment.  "I  think  you  failed  to  get  my 
meaning,  Mrs.  McRae,"  she  said.  A  deep  red  was 
covering  her  face  and  brow. 

"O,  that's  all  right,  Miss  Janes ;  it  doesn't  matter  at 
all !  Wait  a  minute  and  I'll  help  you  introduce  Mr. 
Roberts.  The  people  rather  expect  it,  you  know — and, 
besides,  I  do  so  love  to  hear  Mr.  Roberts  talk  !" 

As  Mrs.  McRae  bustled  into  the  drawing  room  San- 
ford  Kennedy  leaned  forward  sharply.  "I  was  mis- 
taken, Mrs.  Heustis,"  he  said,  and  the  lines  criss- 
crossed over  his  face  in  nervous  twitches,  "some  Ameri- 
cans never  will  forget  how  to  talk — more's  the  pity !" 

Shortly  before  ten  o'clock  Dr.  Janes  was  standing 
in  his  old-fashioned  reception  hall,  the  center  of  an 
intimate  little  circle. 

"Let  me  tell  you  how  these  two  girls  of  mine  came 
to  be  fast  friends,  Mr.  Roberts." 

Doctor  Janes  and  the  missionary  were  standing 
side  by  side,  while  Elizabeth  smiled  up  at  her  father  as 


CROSS  CURRENTS  185 

his  hand  rested  affectionately  on  Clara's  shoulder. 
Rhodin  Curtis  stood  stiffly  at  the  drawing  room  door, 
his  arms  folded  and  a  haggard  look  in  his  face,  while 
Frank  Janes  lounged  restlessly  near  the  front  of  the 
hall. 

John  Roberts'  smile  was  like  a  boy's.  "Tell  me, 
Doctor,"  he  said. 

"It  was  years  ago,  when  both  of  them  were  children 
and  the  Heustis  family  had  just  moved  into  this  neigh- 
borhood. One  day  I  was  called  professionally  to  visit 
Mrs.  Heustis  and  took  Elizabeth  with  me.  She  and 
Clara  at  once  struck  up  an  acquaintance,  and  when  I 
came  down  from  Mrs.  Heustis's  room  the  little  girls 
were  sitting  on  the  steps  trying  to  settle  this  impossible 
riddle :  Which  are  prettier,  blue  eyes  or  brown  ? 

"They  referred  the  matter  to  me,  and  I  said  that 
blue  eyes  and  brown  eyes  were  equally  beautiful  if  they 
were  free  from  'shadows !'  And  when  they  asked  what 
made  the  shadows,  I  said,  'Telling  lies,  and  thinking 
lies.' 

"Right  then  and  there,  Mr.  Roberts,  we  three  entered 
into  a  lifelong  covenant.  They  promised  me  that  they 
would  try  to  keep  shadows  out  of  their  eyes  'forever 
and  ever,'  and  I  promised  them  that  if  ever  I  saw  the 
tiniest  shadow  creeping  in  I  would  warn  them.  Do  you 
know  what  they've  called  each  other  ever  since  that 
day?" 

"Tell  me,  Doctor."  The  missionary's  face  was  won- 
derfully gentle,  and  Clara  turned  away  her  head. 

"  'Browny  brave-eyes'  and  'Clara  clear-eyes' — and, 
thank  God,  I've  yet  to  see  a  shadow  in  either  blue  or 
brown." 


186      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Instinctively  Clara  Curtis  looked  toward  her  hus- 
band, but  Rhodin's  face  had  turned  to  iron  and  there 
was  no  answering  look.  Then  she  spoke  wearily. 

"I  think  we  must  be  going,  dear;  Rho  leaves  in  the 
morning  for  his  camping  trip  with  Dr.  Locke,  and  we 
ought  not  to  stay  any  longer — I'm  very  tired." 

"Wait  just  a  minute,  Clara,  and  let  me  bring  you 
some  coffee — then  I'll  slip  you  away  through  the  con- 
servatory entrance  and  you  won't  have  to  see  another 
soul.  Wait  for  me  in  the  conservatory." 

Elizabeth  hurried  through  the  library  and  then  into 
a  back  passage  without  going  near  the  dining  room. 
Meantime  Clara  moved  languidly  through  the  drawing 
room  and  sat  down  just  inside  the  conservatory  door. 
Rhodin,  who  had  watched  her  furtively,  quietly  found 
his  hat  and  was  about  to  take  leave  of  the  doctor  and 
follow  her,  when  the  front  door  was  thrown  hastily 
open. 

Frank  Janes  sprang  forward.  "Why,  Rho — ,  why, 
Miss  Copley,  you've  been  a  dreadfully  long  time  in 
getting  here !  You  must  have  had  an  awful  drag  in  the 
twelfth  ward!  Aren't  you  tired  to  death?" 

Rose  Copley  looked  up  at  him  with  pleased  surprise. 
"I  am  just  a  little  tired,  Mr. — Captain  Janes.  If  I 
could  have  a  little  hot  coffee — but  Dr.  Locke  has  been 
under  a  much  heavier  strain  than  I  have !"  The  Cap- 
tain disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  dining  room 
with  Miss  Copley  safely  in  tow. 

Richard  Locke  greeted  the  doctor  and  John  Roberts, 
then  turned  to  Rhodin  Curtis.  "One  of  our  poor 
women  had  a  pretty  bad  hemorrhage,  but  she  got  relief 
after  an  hour  or  two,  and  the  young  county  doctor 


CROSS  CURRENTS  187 

thinks  she  will  last  for  two  or  three  weeks.  It's  Humpy 
Jeem's  mother,  Rho.  The  poor  little  fellow  was  utterly 
desolate  until  she  opened  her  eyes  and  spok?  to  him." 

"Will  she  die,  Dick?  Is  there  anyone  to  look  after 
little  Jeem?" 

"It's  hard  telling,  Rho.  His  poor  mother  prayed 
between  gasps  that  I  would  help  'leetla  Jeem'  to  grow 
up  a  good  man  and  not  run  the  streets  without  protec- 
tion. I  promised  her,  but  the  Lord  only  knows  how  I'm 
going  to  keep  that  promise." 

"See  me,  Dick,  before  you  do  anything.  Good 
night.  I'll  be  at  the  eight-thirty  train  in  the  morning. 
I'm  not  packed  yet,"  and  Curtis  moved  toward  the  con- 
servatory as  the  guests  began  to  emerge  from  the  din- 
ing room. 

"Wait,  Rho,  I  must  see  you  a  minute!" 

Rhodin  turned  back,  and  Locke  laid  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  arm.  "Jeemy's  mother  mentioned  your  name 
and  begged  that  I  would  speak  to  you.  I'm  going  back 
to-night — I  might  not  see  her  again,  you  know — and 
I'll  tell  her  it  will  be  all  right  with  Jeemy.  It's  beauti- 
ful of  you,  Rho." 

"Don't  say  that  of  me,  Dick!  Man,  I'm  in  hell  to- 
night !"  and  Curtis  turned  swiftly  into  the  conservatory 
and  walked  out  through  the  narrow  passage. 

Richard  Locke  was  severely  shaken.  He  never  had 
seen  Curtis  so  agitated.  What  strange  thing  had  come 
upon  him  ?  He  walked  into  the  dimly  lighted  conserva- 
tory to  quiet  himself  before  meeting  Elizabeth  and  her 
assembled  guests.  His  head  was  aching  fiercely.  He 
was  glad,  intensely  glad,  for  all  the  day  had  brought 
to  him,  yet  he  was  feeling  the  reaction,  and  he  was 


188      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

tired — very  tired  and  very  lonely.  He  sat  down  by  a 
hot-house  laburnum  and  rested  his  head  against  his 
hand. 

In  a  few  moments  a  sense  of  peace  and  power  came 
over  him.  He  found  himself  smiling  as  certain  pleasant 
words  formed  themselves  in  some  back  passage  of  his 
mind.  *'I  think  I  understand,  Dr.  Locke  ...  I  hope 
you  will  come  again,"  and  then  he  found  himself  wonder- 
ing what  it  was  that  had  left  a  tinge  of  unhappiness 
when  he  knew  that  really  he  was  very  glad. 

A  light  step  sounded  near  him  and  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  stepped  back.  Elizabeth  was  walking  slowly 
toward  the  drawing  room.  At  his  swift  movement  she 
uttered  a  stifled  exclamation  and  then  stood  leaning 
toward  him.  One  hand  rested  on  the  chair  where  he 
had  been  sitting,  the  other  pressed  tremulously  against 
her  throat.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  dark  eyes  were 
shining,  and  her  hair  gleamed  against  the  clusters  of 
bright  yellow  laburnum  blossoms. 

And  yet  it  was  not  her  woman's  loveliness  that  held 
Locke's  fascinated  gaze;  there  was  a  spiritual  radiance 
that  suffused  her. 

What  happened,  Richard  Locke  never  understood, 
never  tried  to  understand;  all  he  knew  was — it  hap- 
pened! There  was  an  exultant  confidence  within  him 
that  never  questioned  and  did  not  hesitate.  He  stepped 
forward  without  a  word  and  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"Elizabeth,"  the  name  was  spoken  as  the  only  natural 
thing  to  say,  "why  did  you  come  in  here?" 

"I  was  helping  Clara;  why  did  you  come,  Richard?" 

"I  was  with  Rhodin,  dear." 

"O,"  and  she  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  sharp  catch. 


CROSS  CURRENTS  189 

Suddenly  she  sprang  away  and  looked  at  him.     "O, 
what  have  I  done? — How  could  you,  Dr.  Locke!" 

And  Locke  answered  simply,  "I  do  not  know,  Miss 
Janes ;  I — I  was  not  myself." 

Elizabeth  was  trembling,  "Leave  me,  please." 
The  look  in  Locke's  face  was  one  of  silent  wonder. 
A  marvel  had  come  to  him — he  loved  her.  He  knew 
that  she  was  pledged  to  another;  Rhodin  Curtis  had 
told  him.  He  knew  fully  that  it  was  his  hour  of  re- 
nunciation. But  his  sacrifice  was  as  nothing  in  that 
moment  of  exaltation.  With  one  swift  look  that  would 
not  forget,  he  turned  and  left  her. 

Elizabeth  stood  beside  her  father  as  the  guests  came 
straggling  down  the  old  stairway.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Craig 
McRae  were  among  the  first  to  leave.  Mrs.  McRae 
was  bubbling  with  enjoyment. 

"I  think  you  are  a  wonderful  missionary,  Miss 
Janes,"  she  said,  "and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I've  en- 
joyed Mr.  Roberts's  conversation."  Then  she  put  her 
lips  close  to  her  and  whispered — "Wait  a  minute,  and 
then  look  over  toward  the  piano;  won't  it  be  a  beauti- 
ful thing  for  Old  First !" 

And  Elizabeth  answered  gently,  "Good-night,  Mrs. 
McRae ;  your  missionaries  will  try  to  do  the  best  they 
can." 

Gay  laughter  from  the  drawing  room  drew  her  eyes 
slowly  through  the  open  door.  Rose  Copley  was  at 
the  piano,  and  the  minister  was  holding  the  music  open 
before  her.  Captain  Frank  Janes  stood  directly  op- 
posite. His  eyes  were  resting  upon  her  and  his  whole 
face  was  alight. 


190      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Elizabeth  turned  suddenly  pale  and  her  lips  trembled. 
"No,  no,  Frank,  not  you ! — O,  not  you  too,  Frank !" 

"Did  you  say  something,  daughter?"  The  old  doctor 
spoke  tenderly. 

"No,  father — I  was  whispering  to  myself,"  and  she 
looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"All  right,  Browny  brave-eyes !" 


CHAPTER  XIV 
BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES 

IT  was  the  third  day  in  camp.  A  summer  shower 
had  freshened  the  scrub  oaks  and  white  birches.  A 
few  rows  of  stunted  corn  that  grew  near  the  edge  of  the 
water  had  taken  on  a  luxurious  green  and  rustled  as 
proudly  as  though  they  were  part  of  the  corn  belt  of 
Illinois. 

Rhodin  Curtis  was  standing  on  a  half  submerged  log 
that  projected  out  from  the  shore  and  served  as  a  con- 
venient mooring  place  for  a  fishing  punt.  A  trim  sail- 
boat, anchored  a  few  yards  farther  out,  swung  briskly 
as  the  breeze  rippled  the  surface  of  Crooked  Lake. 

Rhodin,  dressed  in  rough  camping  flannels,  had 
just  completed  the  humble  service  of  carrying  the  camp 
utensils  to  the  flat-bottomed  punt  for  their  daily  ablu- 
tion. Richard  Locke,  with  bared  arms,  sat  in  the  end 
of  the  boat  vigorously  applying  a  coat  of  sand  and  soap 
to  the  tin  coffee  pot. 

"This  is  my  job,  Rho,"  he  had  insisted  when  they 
made  a  division  of  labor  on  the  first  day.  "I  am  con- 
stitutionally happy  when  I  am  permitted  to  clear  away 
useless  accretions  and  get  down  to  fundamental  facts." 

"Then  I'll  fetch  and  carry,"  laughed  Rhodin ;  "that's 
a  banker's  real  business,  any  way."  So  it  was  com- 
fortably arranged. 

Rhodin  stood  looking  across  the  water  with  his  face 
lifted  and  his  eyes  shining.  Light  clouds  were  hurry- 

191 


192      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

ing  to  the  north  and  the  sun,  dropping  behind  thick 
woods  on  the  opposite  shore,  had  turned  them  into 
fleecy  birds  of  paradise.  The  lake  itself  had  become 
an  undulating  golden  mirror. 

"I've  never  been  in  the  Trossachs  nor  the  English 
lake  country,  but  neither  Scott  nor  Wordsworth,  I 
warrant,  ever  saw  water  or  sky  more  packed  with 
poetry  than  I  am  seeing  now." 

Locke  looked  up  with  mingled  pleasure  and  surprise. 
"High  patriotism,  Rho,  and  honest  poetry,  too !"  he 
said  with  enthusiasm.  "Some  day  we  Americans  will 
prize  our  wonderland  of  Northern  Lakes  at  their  poetic 
worth.  If  your  dead  log  were  a  bit  of  gray  granite,  I 
easily  could  fancy  that  you  were  bold  Fitz-James  him- 
self. Don't  you  remember  how  he  finds  his  way  to  the 
edge  of  the  lake? — 

'Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 
One  burnished  sheet  of  living  gold, 
Loch-Katrine  lay  beneath  him  rolled.' 

Why,  Rho,  I  can  almost  see  your  gray  flannels  turn  to 
Lincoln  green !" 

Curtis  caught  the  quaint  humor  of  it  and  went  on 
without  a  moment's  hesitation: 

"  'How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 
Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn ! 
How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute, 
Chime,  when  the  groves  are  still  and  mute !' " 

"Hear,  hear!"  Locke  was  pounding  the  side  of  the 
boat  with  a  tin  cup.  "What's  that  story  you  told  me 
three  years  ago  about  not  liking  poetry  and  never 
reading  it?  Man,  you  spout  like  a  geyser!" 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       193 

Rhodin  glowed  with  pleasure,  but,  manlike,  he  could 
answer  only  with  badinage. 

"It  was  you,  Reverend  Sir,  who  led  me  into  these  evil 
courses,  so  please  do  not  interrupt  me!  You  have 
started  my  imagination,  and  I  can  see  the  Highland 
maiden  rounding  the  point  yonder  in  her  little  skiff: 

'The  boat  had  touched  the  silver  strand, 

Just  as  the  hunter  left  his  stand, 

And  stood  concealed  amid  the  brake, 

To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 

She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 

With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent, 

With  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent, 

And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 

Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 

In  listening  mood  she  seemed  to  stand, 

The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand. — ' " 

Rhodin  left  off  abruptly,  looking  a  little  foolish. 

"Go  on,  Rho,  don't  stop!— We'll  have  Roderick  Dhu 
and  his  clan  here  in  just  a  minute;  you're  a  wonder!" 
and  he  picked  up  the  copper  frying  pan. 

But  Rhodin  shook  his  head  sharply  and  stepped  into 
the  punt.  He  never  before  had  permitted  himself  such 
free  rein  in  Locke's  presence,  and  he  felt  a  sudden  em- 
barrassment. He  sat  down  on  the  end  thwart  of  the 
boat  and  covered  his  confusion  by  lighting  a  cigarette. 

And  yet  it  was  something  more  than  embarrassment 
that  brought  a  slow  frown  to  his  forehead  and  a  look 
of  numb  pain  to  his  eyes.  Locke  would  have  been 
troubled  had  he  noticed  it,  but  his  own  eager  thoughts 
were  filling  him,  and,  for  the  moment,  he  had  room  for 
nothing  else. 


194      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

The  fact  is,  Scott's  subtle  imagery  had  set  before 
them  in  vivid  realization  each  his  own  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  yet  neither  of  them  dreamed  of  what  was  in  the 
other's  mind.  Rhodin  knew  that  something  beautiful 
had  been  marred,  and  Locke  knew  that  something  won- 
derful had  been  revealed.  Both  of  them  recognized 
that  what  had  happened  was  beyond  their  power  to 
alter  in  the  least  degree. 

Again  Richard  Locke  saw  Elizabeth  leaning  toward 
him  "With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent,"  and  he  felt 
the  thrill  of  her  presence.  Again  he  heard  his  own 
name  spoken  softly  as  they  stood  together — "Richard." 
Heedless  he  let  the  frying  pan  fall  to  the  floor  of  the 
punt  while  his  eyes  wandered  mistily  across  the  lake. 

He  could  not  fathom  the  wonder  of  it :  he  loved!  For 
six  years  a  beautiful  memory  had  been  enshrined  within 
his  heart,  and  he  had  not  dreamed  that  another  love 
could  enter  in.  And  yet,  with  utter  loyalty  to  that 
sweet  and  abiding  memory,  he  knew  that  the  one  trans- 
forming passion  of  his  life  had  come  to  him. 

In  his  first  hour  of  exaltation,  the  night  of  the  recep- 
tion, the  marvel  of  it  all  was  like  elixir  in  his  blood ;  his 
own  sacrifice  was  a  small  matter.  But  he  had  been 
looking  forward  into  the  years  and  their  bleak  loneli- 
ness appalled  him.  Honor  forbade  that  he  should  even 
think  of  her  in  days  to  come,  and  yet,  honor  never  could 
deny  the  living  truth !  He  seized  the  pan  with  sudden 
vehemence  and  crushed  the  cake  of  soap  against  its 
copper  sides. 

Rhodin  was  watching  him  curiously.  He  had  no 
least  suspicion  of  what  was  passing  in  Locke's  mind, 
and  yet  a  mute  instinct  urged  him  to  explain  the  whole 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       195 

miserable  mistake — that  Elizabeth  was  not  engaged 
after  all,  and,  if  she  interested  him,  there  was  a  clear 
field  and  no  rivals.  A  dozen  times  in  the  last  three 
days  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  speaking,  but  each 
time  pride  held  him  back — or  was  it  chivalry? — and 
the  words  would  not  come. 

Mistake? — how  could  he  say  it!  Had  not  Clara 
told  him  plainly? — at  least  had  she  not  given  him  the 
very  distinct  impression  that  it  was  so?  To  deny  it 
now  seemed  in  some  sense  a  reflection  upon  her  perfect 
truthfulness.  He  himself  had  been  unnerved  at  what 
he  felt  was  Clara's  evasion  and  he  was  bitterly  sensitive 
lest  another  should  get  even  a  hint  of  his  confusion. 
Richard  Locke  was  his  intimate  and  dear  friend — but 
Clara  was  his  wife.  He  could  not  choose  between 
them.  There  was  no  choice. 

His  wife!  For  six  years  she  had  been  his  guiding 
spirit.  He  remembered  how  the  last  line  he  had  just 
foolishly  declaimed  was  underscored  in  his  own  volume 
of  Scott  at  home — he  had  marked  it  and  committed  it 
only  last  winter — "The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand." 
Clara  always  had  been  that  to  him. 

He  thought  of  Dr.  Janes'  story  of  "Clara  clear-eyes," 
and  his  lips  set  like  a  bowstring  that  it  had  been  re- 
served for  him,  her  husband,  to  see  the  first  hateful 
shadow  in  those  clear  blue  depths.  Rhodin's  daily 
business  at  the  cashier's  desk  was  to  scan  and  analyze 
the  statements  of  other  men — home  had  been  his  haven 
of  restful  and  unquestioning  trust.  Must  he  now  begin 
to  analyze  and  scan  at  home? 

A  mere  trifle? — nothing  was  a  trifle  that  could  dim 
his  perfect  confidence! 


196      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

The  report  of  a  gun  broke  off  reflections  that  were 
becoming  unendurable. 

"Are  ducks  here  at  this  season,  Rho?"  Locke  spoke 
without  lifting  his  eyes. 

"No,  it's  too  early.  That  was  a  bittern  flying  low 
near  the  patch  of  water  reeds  at  the  point.  I  saw  it 
fall." 

"How  could  you  know  it  was  a  bittern?  I've  never 
learned  to  tell  game  birds  from  common  lake  heron." 

Curtis  laughed.  "Your  business  has  been  to  snare 
sinners,  Dick;  you've  never  made  a  specialty  of  lesser 
game!  I  was  born  at  the  edge  of  Mullet  Lake — less 
than  eight  miles  from  here.  I  know  every  turn  and  in- 
let from  here  to  Lake  Huron,  and  every  thing  that  flies 
or  swims  in  northern  Michigan." 

Their  camp  was  pitched  in  a  grove  of  white  birches 
on  the  eastern  margin  of  Crooked  Lake.  The  shore 
south  of  them  curved  outward  to  a  projecting  point  be- 
tween which  and  their  camp  lay  a  wide  field  of  reeds  and 
water  lilies.  As  Rhodin  finished  speaking  his  eyes 
rested  curiously  on  the  tremulous  green  surface, 
flecked  here  and  there  with  white  blossoms. 

"I  came  near  getting  my  quietus  just  this  side  of  the 
point,"  he  said,  tossing  away  his  cigarette. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Locke  with  quick  interest. 

"I  was  a  little  fellow  about  ten  years  old,  and  used 
to  go  out  with  father  through  all  this  chain  of  lakes. 
Father  often  warned  me  against  leaning  over  the  edge 
of  the  boat,  but  I  constantly  forgot  his  warnings.  One 
day  he  was  trolling  for  pickerel  near  the  point  yonder 
and  I  reached  out  for  a  lily  and  went  overboard.  I 
could  swim,  of  course,  but  got  tangled  in  the  reeds  in 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES      197 

about  ten  feet  of  water.  Father  dived  for  me  and  cut 
the  reeds  with  his  fish  knife,  but  before  he  could  get  me 
into  the  boat  I  was  unconscious  and  almost  gone." 

"And  that  was  the  end  of  your  fishing  jaunts  with 
your  father,  I  take  it." 

Rhodin  smiled  grimly.  "You  never  knew  my  father ! 
He  was  angry  with  me,  and  said  that  I  was  old  enough 
to  lift  an  oar  for  myself  and  would  have  to  do  it.  From 
that  time  until  we  moved  to  Cheboygan  I  went  out  with 
him  every  day.  But  my  place  was  at  the  oars,  while 
father  looked  after  the  lines — and  the  lilies." 

"Poor  little  chap!  I  wonder  that  you  wanted  to 
pitch  camp  so  near  that  ill-fated  point,"  and  Locke 
looked  approvingly  at  the  array  of  camp  tins  he  had 
just  finished. 

Rhodin  was  dangling  his  hand  over  the  edge  of  the 
punt.  "It  may  seem  queer  to  you,  Dick,"  he  said,  "but 
the  point  yonder  and  this  whole  wide  tangle  of  reeds 
and  lilies  have  had  a  fascination  for  me  ever  since  the 
day  I  went  overboard.  I  remember  how  I  felt  lying 
there  among  the  reeds.  After  the  first  scare,  when  I 
knew  I  was  caught  and  couldn't  possibly  get  loose,  I 
had  a  curious  feeling  of  comfort  and  security.  I  sup- 
pose really  I  was  drowning  and  practically  had  lost 
consciousness,  but  there  was  no  pain  nor  any  feeling  of 
suffocation — only  a  dreamy  sense  of  floating  out  into 
shining  mists.  Drowning  would  be  an  easy  way  to  goy 
I'm  thinking." 

Locke  did  not  answer  him,  and  a  full  minute  passed 
without  a  word.  Then,  as  though  he  were  finishing  an 
interrupted  remark,  Rhodin  went  on : 

"Yes,  easy  enough! — only  one  would  need  a  good 


198      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

heavy  rock  to  anchor  him — the  reeds  might  not  catch 
hold,  you  know!" 

Richard  Locke  looked  up  half  startled.  Rhodin's 
face  had  a  look  of  quietness,  and  yet  his  eyes  rested 
upon  the  pendulous  green  surface  with  brooding  wist- 
fulness.  Trouble  was  eating  at  Rhodin's  heart;  of 
that  he  was  very  sure.  What  it  was  he  could  not  know 
— only  that  he  needed  a  friend,  and  a  friend's  strong 
sympathy. 

The  conversation  turned  to  lighter  themes,  and  pres- 
ently they  pushed  out  into  the  lake  for  their  evening 
sail  and  troll.  Locke  noticed  that  Rhodin  tacked  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  reeds. 

"It  was  within  twenty  feet  of  this  spot,  Dick,"  he 
said  as  the  boat  cut  through  a  green  tangle  of  water 
lilies. 

"Well,  I'll  not  guarantee  to  dive  for  you,  so  I  sug- 
gest you  give  the  lilies  a  wider  berth,  Rho," — and  then 
as  his  line  gave  a  sudden  zigzag  whirl  underneath  the 
surface — "I  declare  your  father  knew  where  to  find  the 
big  pickerel !" 

A  plump  two-pounder  was  drawn  floundering  and 
fighting  alongside  the  boat,  but  so  meshed  and  covered 
with  an  ooze  of  roots  that  the  line  had  to  be  cut  before 
the  fish  could  be  disentangled.  Rhodin  pulled  away  the 
dripping  green  mass  and  turned  to  Locke  with  grotesque 
concern. 

"See  how  wonderfully  he  was  wreathed  for  his 
funeral! — just  as  I  was,  Dick,  until  my  father  spoiled 
a  kindly  providence;  even  now  the  water  lilies  cling  to 
me !"  and  Rhodin  shook  his  hand  free  from  the  twining 
tendrils. 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       199 

It  was  all  idle  talk,  yet  Locke  disliked  it  exceedingly. 
"You  give  me  the  creeps,  Rho,"  he  said. 

They  had  gotten  clear  of  the  reeds,  and  were  bearing 
toward  the  foot  of  the  lake  under  a  full  spread  of  sail, 
before  either  of  them  spoke.  Locke  had  tied  his  line  to 
a  small  belaying  pin  and  was  lying  back  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  dark  spruce  and  scrub  oak  that  lined  the 
shore. 

"When  shall  we  start  on  our  Cheboygan  trip,  Rho  ?" 

"To-irrorrow,  if  you  like." 

Rhodin's  answer  came  with  brisk  directness.  The 
brooding  look  had  disappeared  from  his  face  and  he 
handled  the  boat  with  expert  skill. 

It  was  after  dusk  when  they  returned  to  camp. 
Rhodin  had  been  telling  of  other  youthful  escapades, 
and  Locke  had  picked  up  two  fine  bass  and  another 
pickerel.  They  built  up  their  camp  fire  and  demon- 
strated once  more  an  axiom  of  the  northern  lakes  and 
of  all  discerning  epicureans — that  fresh-water  fish 
should  see  the  frying  pan  within  sixty  minutes  after 
leaving  their  native  element. 

The  next  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  they 
were  soon  ready  for  their  trip  through  the  chain  of 
spring-fed  lakes  that  begin  near  Petoskey  and  stretch 
across  the  northern  edge  of  the  State.  A  few  camp 
utensils,  with  a  supply  of  meal,  bacon,  sugar,  coffee, 
salt,  were  stowed  away  in  the  stern  of  the  sailboat. 
Blankets  covered  with  tarpaulin  were  strapped  under- 
neath the  thwarts.  Their  jointed  steel  rods  and  an 
extra  trolling  line  lay  ready  for  use,  and  two  camp 
cushions  were  tossed  in  at  the  last  minute. 

"No  use  evading  comfort!"  said  Curtis,  "especially 


200      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

as  we're  likely  to  sleep  out  in  the  open  before  we  get 
back  to  camp." 

The  rest  of  the  utensils  with  their  extra  clothing 
were  securely  padlocked  in  the  camp  chest,  and  the  tent 
tied  close  against  wind  or  rain.  Already  they  had 
arranged  with  "Cap'n  Flynn,"  who  lived  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  back  from  the  point  and  made  a  precarious  living 
out  of  summer  tourists,  to  "keep  a  weather  eye"  on 
their  belongings. 

"I've  know'd  Rhode  Curtis,"  he  chuckled,  "ever  sence 
he  tried  to  tie  hisself  to  the  bottom  of  Crooked  Lake, 
an'  I  won't  let  nobody  tetch  his  traps." 

To  Richard  Locke  that  was  a  voyage  of  discovery. 
Rhodin  was  familiar,  as  he  said,  with  every  turn  and 
inlet,  and  his  boyhood  memories  came  trooping  back 
to  make  every  hour  a  whispering  gallery.  Locke 
treasured  the  changing  panorama  of  woodland,  lake, 
and  river,  but  more  wonderful  than  the  unfolding  of 
that  summer  day  was  the  unfolding  of  the  heart  of 
Rhodin  Curtis. 

The  winding  length  of  Crooked  Lake  and  the 
tortuous  turns  of  Crooked  River  were  a  straight  course 
compared  to  the  labyrinth  through  which  their  conver- 
sation threaded.  Finance,  insurance,  politics,  war, 
history,  fiction,  poetry,  religion,  philosophy,  mesmer- 
ism, New  Thought,  church,  Masonry,  socialism,  birth- 
control,  boat-building,  motor  cars — Locke  cast  up  the 
account  toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  and  an- 
nounced solemnly  that  they  had  taken  university  ex- 
tension courses  in  twenty-eight  different  and  distinct 
subjects. 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       201 

"And  sailed  through  every  one  of  them  with  flying 
colors,"  added  Rhodin,  smiling  up  at  the  flag  that 
streamed  above  their  billowing  canvas. 

The  breeze  was  from  the  southwest  and  drove  them 
in  a  direct  course — when  once  they  had  finished  the 
picturesque  turns  of  Crooked  River — through  Burt 
Lake  with  its  pebbly  margin,  past  the  deep  inland  coves 
of  Mullet  Lake,  and  out  into  the  blue  waters  of  Lake 
Huron.  They  remarked  that  enlightened  European 
policy  in  the  government  at  Washington  long  since 
would  have  taken  advantage  of  a  natural  waterway  and 
built  a  ship  canal  from  Cheboygan  to  Petoskey,  in 
order  to  outflank  a  Canadian  attack  on  the  straits  of 
Mackinac — and  smiled  at  the  vast  buffoonery  of  war. 

They  tacked  back  to  the  shallow  harbor,  just  at  sun- 
down, and  stood  for  a  reverent  moment  in  the 
straggling  graveyard  where  Rhodin's  mother  had  been 
laid  when  he  was  still  a  boy  and  where  his  father  had 
been  buried  two  years  before.  In  lieu  of  camp  comforts 
they  sat  down  to  pork  chops  and  muddy  coffee  in  the 
stuffy  Cheboygan  House,  where  they  ventured  also  to 
spend  the  night. 

"We'll  have  better  luck  to-morrow,  Dick,"  said 
Curtis,  apologetically,  for  he  considered  that  in  some 
sense  he  represented  the  hospitality  of  northern  Michi- 
gan. "We'll  pick  up  some  fine  bass  and  unsling  our 
own  frying  pan." 

Their  return  trip  was  slow,  tacking  against  the  wind, 
and  it  was  late  the  next  day  when  they  pulled  their 
boat  high  up  on  the  beach  of  Burt  Lake  near  the  en- 
trance to  Crooked  River ;  it  would  be  wiser  to  navigate 
that  corkscrew  of  a  stream  in  broad  daylight.  Their 


202      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

supper  was  a  camper's  delight — fresh  caught  bass  done 
to  a  crispy  brown,  potatoes  baked  in  hot  ashes,  and 
corn  cakes  edged  with  sweet  bacon.  Their  blankets 
spread  on  the  pebbly  sand,  the  flickering  camp  fire,  the 
lapping  water,  the  long  northern  twilight — it  was  an 
evening  that  would  remain  in  their  memory.  At  such 
an  hour  the  thoughts  of  a  man,  as  of  a  boy,  "are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you,  Dick,  how  I  almost  'got  re- 
ligion'? I've  been  thinking  of  it  ever  since  last  night 
when  we  stood  in  the  little  graveyard." 

"Tell  me,  Rho,"  and  Locke  turned  toward  him, 
eagerly. 

"Father  was  a  bigoted  'Hard  Shell,'  hard  and  narrow 
as  an  oak  plank.  I  always  was  afraid  of  him  when  I 
was  a  boy,  and  even  now  his  memory  brings  to  me  no 
tenderness.  But  mother  was  different.  She  was  the 
one  love  of  my  childhood.  She  died  just  a  little  while 
before  I  tried  drowning  among  the  reeds — I  was  reach- 
ing after  lilies  to  lay  on  her  grave  when  I  went  over- 
board." There  was  a  tender  look  in  Rhodin's  eyes 
that  softened  all  his  face. 

"The  preacher  used  to  stop  at  our  house  when  he  was 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  he  and  father  would  discuss 
religion  by  the  yard,  and  enlarge  on  the  sure  damnation 
of  everybody  who  did  not  'get  religion' — 'not  omitting 
the  little  children !' — and  father  would  look  at  me  out  of 
his  stern  eyes  until  I  trembled.  They  never  explained 
what  it  was  to  'get  religion,'  only  they  would  tell  of  this 
and  that  'outbreaking  sinner'  around  the  lakes  who  had 
given  up  drinking  and  cursing. 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       203 

"Of  course,  we  never  had  liquor  in  the  house,  and  it 
is  the  simple  truth  that  I  never  uttered  an  oath  or  even 
used  a  'swear  word'  until  after  mother  died — although 
I  was  far  from  being  a  good  boy,  and  needed,  if  ever  a 
boy  did,  both  restraint  and  inspiration.  So  I  was  hard 
put  to  it,  wondering  how  I  could  'get  religion'  and  thus 
escape  an  awful  retribution.  You  see,  I  was  perfectly 
convinced  that  'getting  religion'  would  be  evidenced  by 
my  giving  up  drinking  or  swearing." 

"Poor  little  chap!"  broke  in  Locke,  impetuously. 
"And  the  loving  Lord  just  waiting  for  you  to  look  up 
and  see  his  face,  the  easiest  thing  a  child  ever  did,  and 
the  most  natural !" 

"Perhaps  so,  Dick;  that's  your  specialty.  Things 
would  have  been  different,  I  know,  if  some  one  like  you 
had  wandered  into  the  north  woods  twenty-five  years 
ago.  But  let  me  finish  my  'experience.'  One  Sunday 
when  I  was  about  seven  years  old  I  couldn't  stand  it 
any  longer.  I  slipped  away  from  the  table  while 
father  and  the  preacher  were  talking  and  crept  up- 
stairs into  the  bedroom.  I  hid  my  face  in  mother's  old 
dress  hanging  behind  the  door  and  whispered  'damn' — 
just  loud  enough  for  myself  to  hear.  Then  I  ran  down 
to  the  kitchen  crying,  and  threw  myself  into  mother's 
arms. 

"  'O,'  I  sobbed,  'pray  for  me !  I'm  a  wicked  boy  and 
sweared  awfully;  please  help  me  to  stop  swearing  and 
get  religion' — and  I  held  her  close  about  the  neck." 

There  was  no  sound  but  the  lapping  of  water  on  the 
pebbles. 

"And  then?"  Locke  asked,  staring  into  the  fire. 

"I  guess  that's  all,  Dick,  except  that  mother  com- 


204      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

forted  me,  and  taught  me  a  hymn  that  I've  never  for- 
gotten. I  used  even  to  believe  that  it  was  true!" 

"What  was  it,  Rho?" 

"  'There's  a  Friend  for  little  children  above  the  bright 
blue  sky?  But  I  never  'got  religion' !  After  that  I 
used  to  run  away  when  the  preacher  came  to  the  house. 
I  always  hated  him!  Then  mother  died,  and  religion 
became  a  closed  book  to  me — as  it  is  yet." 

Then  he  swung  round  and  faced  Locke,  laughing. 

"There's  something  wrong  with  you,  old  man ;  I'm 
afraid  you're  not  'orthodox' !  You  haven't  inquired 
once  about  my  'soul'  during  all  these  three  years  I've 
known  you.  I'm  sure  there's  a  screw  loose  somewhere, 
for  you're  the  only  preacher  that  ever  seemed  to  me 
quite  human.  How  do  you  account  for  it?  Are  you 
sure  you're  genuinely  religious?" 

"What  do  you  think  religion  is,  Rho?"  Locke  ap- 
peared to  be  speaking  almost  casually,  but  his  eyes 
were  gleaming  in  the  firelight. 

"O,  reading  the  Bible,  going  to  church,  and  believing 
a  lot  of  things  about  the  hereafter!  That's  rather  a 
crude  definition;  but  religion,  you  know,  isn't  my 
strong  hold." 

"But,  Rho,  you  are  religious.  That's  what  ties  me 
to  you." 

"Religious ! — I !  Why,  Dick,  I'm  blind  as  a  bat  when 
it  comes  to  such  things !" 

"You've  said  it,  Rho,  better  than  I  could  hope  to. 
Blind — and  the  soul  of  an  artist !" 

Rhodin  Curtis  sat  silent  for  a  minute  and  threw 
pebbles  into  the  lake.  He  was  trying  to  "find"  himself 
in  a  new  perspective,  but  could  not. 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       205 

"I  don't  get  you,  Dick,"  he  said.  "What  in  the  world 
do  you  mean  by  religion,  anyway?" 

And  Locke's  answer  came  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation: 

"Recognizing  God  as  one  of  the  factors  in  human 
experience." 

"One  of  the  factors,  Dick?     What  are  the  others?" 

"Birth,  family,  friends,  education,  money,  health, 
social  surroundings,  ability,  will,  opportunity — there 
are  a  thousand  elements  that  enter  into  a  man's  life  and 
make  up  the  sum  total  of  his  experience,  and  God  is 
one  of  them.  To  be  aware  of  that  fact  is  'religion.' ' 

Rhodin  Curtis  looked  into  the  smoldering  campfire 
and  a  dark  frown  gathered  between  his  eyes.  His  an- 
swer came  half  angrily. 

"Then  all  I've  got  to  say,  Dick,  is  just  this:  It's  a 
hell  of  a  world  and  religion  is  about  the  most  worth- 
less thing  in  it." 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  think  so.  The  fact  is, 
Rho,  religion  is  your  undoing.  If  you  could  drop  God 
entirely  out  of  your  thinking  and  become  an  atheist, 
you  would  have  no  mental  contradictions.  Or,  if 
you  could  be  a  pantheist  and  identify  God  in  some  im- 
personal and  mysterious  way  with  the  whole  wide 
universe,  you  would  get  on  very  comfortably.  Many 
do,  I  assure  you.  But  you  can't  do  it.  The  trouble 
is  you're  a  Christian — and  yet  you  can't  'gear'  your- 
self to  your  own  faith!  And  that's  your  tragedy,  old 
man — and  my  sorrow!" 

Curtis  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"A  Christian,  Dick!— I!" 

"Certainly,  Rho." 


206      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Then  what  in  thunder  is  the  matter  with  me !  Why 
doesn't  my  Christianity  work?" 

"You  haven't  the  key." 

"The  key!" 

"Yes.  You  recognize  that  God  is  a  factor  in  human 
experience  just  as  truly  as  birth,  education,  money, 
and  all  the  rest,  and  yet  religion  means  defeat  for  you 
instead  of  victory." 

"Well!" 

"Victorious  religion  is  just  this:  'Perceiving  the  true 
relative  importance  of  God  and  the  rest.'  Donald 
Hankey  learned  it  and  wrote  it  down,  just  like  that,  be- 
fore his  own  last  victory  in  Flanders." 

"Does  that  mean  trying  to  make  yourself  believe 
Robert  Browning's  monstrous  optimism,  'God's  in  his 
heaven — All's  right  with  the  world?'  ' 

"Never!  But  it  does  mean  supreme  and  victorious 
confidence  in  God  himself — that  he  is  able  to  push  down 
through  all  the  other  factors  that  make  up  the  life  of 
a  man  or  a  nation  and  work  his  own  will,  through  them 
or  in  spite  of  them,  and  that  he  actually  does  so  when- 
ever men  will  cooperate  intelligently  with  him ; — and  it 
means  that  every  little  one  who  trusts  in  him  shall 
'never  be  put  to  shame.' ' 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  the  scream  of  a  bittern 
flying  low  near  the  mouth  of  Crooked  River  split 
through  the  dusk.  The  cry  was  answered  by  a  night 
hawk  back  in  the  woods.  Then  Rhodin  spoke  slowly 
as  a  man  feeling  his  way. 

"Well,  suppose  a  man  has  a  troubled  notion  that 
what  you've  said  is  about  the  truth,  how  under  these 
shining  stars  is  he  going  to  realize  it? — I  mean  so  that 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES      207 

it  signifies  something  more  than  religious  words !  How 
am  I  going  to  screw  myself  into  what  you  call  'vic- 
torious religion' — granting  that  I  have  any  religion  at 
all?" 

Locke  did  not  answer  him,  but  lay  back  with  his  eyes 
digging  into  the  vastness  that  stretched  above  them. 
His  whole  soul  was  alert,  and  some  instinct  made  him 
let  Rhodin  do  the  talking. 

"I  suppose — I  suppose  that's  what  you  would  call 
'faith' — eh,  Dick  ?"  He  spoke  half  shyly,  while  a  grave 
sweet  smile  shadowed  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

Locke  continued  silent,  but  his  hand  reached  out  and 
gripped  hold  of  Rhodin's. 

"Good  old  Dick — you're  the  only  man  who  ever 
understood  me!" 

Rhodin  Curtis  returned  Locke's  grip  with  an  affec- 
tionate pressure,  then  yielded  to  the  lure  of  the  camp 
fire  and  gazed  pensively  into  the  glowing  embers.  But 
gradually  the  smile  receded  from  his  lips  and  the  old 
look  of  discontent  crept  back  into  his  face. 

"All  right,  Dick — religion  is  your  specialty — you 
ought  to  know.  Perhaps  I  am  a  sort  of  half-baked 
Christian  after  all,  though  I  never  imagined  it  before! 
But  all  the  same  it  doesn't  land  me  anywhere.  There's 
no  use  talking,  religion  doesn't  interest  me.  Prayer, 
Bible  study,  going  to  church,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — 
the  whole  thing's  a  foreign  language,  and  I  won't  be 
hypocrite  enough  to  say  that  I  want  to  learn  it.  I've 
a  single-track  mind  and  it's  just  'business.'  I'm  will- 
ing enough  to  confess  that  I  would  like  to  realize  the 
things  you've  been  talking  about,  for  'way  down  in  me, 
somewhere,  there's  a  nebulous  faith  in  God  and 


208      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Christianity.  But  it  doesn't  signify  anything,  and  it 
doesn't  get  anywhere.  I'm  not  interested — that's 
flat !  I'm  not  interested  enough  to  be  a  gentleman  and 
say  I'm  ashamed  of  myself !  A  straight  tip  on  'Mexi- 
can Petroleum'  would  stir  me  more  than  all  the  creeds 
in  Christendom,  and,  after  all  your  interesting  conver- 
sation, I'd  rather  talk  business  than  religion — right 
now!" 

There  was  a  determined  flash  in  Locke's  eyes.  He 
arose  without  a  word  and  turned  over  the  base  log  of 
their  camp  fire.  As  the  flames  leaped  up  he  threw  on 
another  log  of  dry  drift  wood.  The  blaze  lighted  up 
the  entire  shore. 

"We  can  see  all  right  now,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 

Rhodin  was  watching  him  curiously.  "I  hope  you're 
not  offended,  old  man." 

"Of  course  not,  Rho,"  and  he  gave  the  fire  another 
vigorous  punch.  "That  will  do ;  we  could  see  to  read 
fifty  yards  away,"  and  Locke  resumed  his  seat  on  the 
blankets. 

"What's  up,  Dick?    Going  to  read  the  Bible  to  me?" 

"Not  much!  You  can  do  your  own  Bible-reading 
when  you  get  good  and  ready.  You  said  you  wanted 
to  talk  business,  and  I'm  more  than  ready  to  begin. 
I  have  one  question  I  want  to  ask — How  much  money 
did  you  bring  with  you?" 

Curtis  was  nonplussed  and  looked  at  him  without 
answering. 

"Come  along,  Rho;  don't  be  a  fish!  How  much  did 
you  bring?" 

"Not  very  much,  Dick.  I'm  sorry.  I  had  forty  or 
fifty  dollars  in  my  pocket  and  drew  a  hundred  for  safe 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES       209 

margin.  But  I  can  get  plenty  more  at  Petoskey;  how 
much  do  you  need?" 

Locke  laughed.  "0,  I'm  not  borrowing !  I'm  want- 
ing to  help  you  put  through  a  good-sized  business  deal. 
How  much  have  you  now,  Rho  ?" 

Rhodin  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  scrutiny,  the  kind 
he  gave  when  "promoters"  stood  beside  his  desk  at  the 
bank.  Then  without  a  word  he  tossed  a  roll  of  bills 
and  a  handful  of  change  on  the  blankets  and  ran 
through  the  amount  with  practiced  fingers. 

"A  hundred  and  five  dollars  and  twenty  cents." 

"All  right.  Now  count  ten  dollars  and  a  half — No, 
we'll  do  it  right!  Count  out  ten  fifty-two;  that's  the 
exact  tithe  of  your  ready  cash." 

Rhodin  folded  his  arms  and  looked  at  him.  "I've  a 
faint  glimmer  that  you're  still  talking  religion!  Be 
plain  with  me,  Dick ; — what  are  you  driving  at  ?" 

"I  will  be  plain  with  you,  Rhodin  Curtis!  Eternal 
God  is  waiting  for  you  to  talk  business  with  him.  He 
has  waited  a  long  time.  He  expects  straight  dealing, 
the  kind  that  you  are  used  to  at  your  own  desk.  He 
does  not  ask  you  to  be  'interested  in  religion';  all  he 
asks  is  that  you  will  acknowledge  his  relation  to  the 
one  thing  that  interests  you  most — money !" 

Locke  spoke  with  swift  intensity  and  Rhodin  looked 
at  him  in  fascination. 

"You  say  you  want  to  talk  'business'? — I  tell  you 
'business'  is  the  one  line  of  talk  that  God  most  prizes ! 
The  instinct  of  possession  searches  a  man  to  the  core, 
and  money  is  the  surest  test  of  it.  God  is  in  the  world, 
Rho — not  as  a  mere  pervading  influence,  but  as  a  Per- 
sonal Presence.  That's  why  the  Bible  has  so  much  to 


210      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

say  about  'property'  and  why  Jesus  Christ's  teachings 
turn  on  social  ethics.  God  is  the  one  absolute  Owner 
of  property  values  and  of  the  money  that  measures 
them.  That's  why  he  is  in  the  world — he  is  looking 
after  his  'property'  through  the  only  ones  who  can  rep- 
resent him,  his  stewards.  Part  of  that  property  is  in 
your  own  hands.  Only  he  and  you  know  the  extent  and 
the  value  of  your  holdings.  If  you'll  acknowledge  the 
relation  that  exists  between  you,  the  relation  of  Owner 
and  steward,  you  need  not  concern  yourself  about 
'religion' ;  it  will  become  an  open  book  to  you." 

Rhodin  felt  the  thrill  of  Locke's  impassioned  words. 
Never  before  had  he  realized  the  intense  yearning  of 
his  friend.  It  was  a  revelation. 

"You  know  well  enough,  Rho,  what  I  mean  by  the 
'tithe.*  We've  talked  about  it  before.  You  never 
have  been  caught,  as  some  of  the  members  of  Old  First 
have  been,  by  a  miserable  piece  of  legalism,  as  though 
the  authority  of  the  tithe  rested  on  some  Jewish  statute. 
What  I  mean,  and  all  I  mean,  is  the  separated  portion 
that  acknowledges  God  as  Owner  of  your  property  in- 
terests. Its  deeper  personal  significance  the  Owner 
himself  will  make  plain.  But  that  need  not  concern 
you.  That's  'religion'  and  I'm  talking  'business'  just 
now !  You're  a  practical  banker,  as  you  remarked  the 
other  day  at  the  Club,  and  recognize  the  broad  prop- 
erty basis  on  which  the  whole  matter  rests.  So  I  put 
it  to  you  as  I  never  have  put  it  to  another  man — Will 
you  deal  straight  with  God  in  the  one  matter  that  inter- 
ests you,  money,  and  give  God  a  chance  to  deal  straight 
with  you?" 

Rhodin  looked  into  his  friend's  face,  searching  into 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES      211 

his  soul.  Then,  without  a  word,  he  separated  two  five- 
dollar  bills  from  the  roll  and  picked  up  a  silver  half- 
dollar  and  two  copper  cents. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  this,  Dick?"  he  asked  with 
perfect  quietness.  "Shall  I  hand  it  over  to  you  as  an 
ordained  minister  of  God?" 

"Yes,  Rho,  if  that  will  help  you  to  make  more  real 
and  vivid  the  one  thing  that  you're  doing.  I'll  report 
back  to  you  how  I  administer  your  tithe,"  and  he  looked 
into  his  face  as  David  into  the  face  of  Jonathan. 

Slowly  Rhodin  folded  the  coins  and  the  two  bills  into 
a  compact  square.  Slowly,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  fire,  he  reached  his  hand  toward  Richard  Locke,  who 
waited  intently  to  receive  the  money — waited  reverently 
as  one  waits  to  receive  the  holy  sacrament.  A  human 
spirit  was  drawing  near  to  God,  and  his  minister  was 
holding  wide  the  door. 

Suddenly  Rhodin  stiffened  and  drew  back  his  hand. 

What  was  this  thing  that  he  was  about  to  do?  Did 
he  wish  to  separate  himself  from  Clara  ?  She  would  not 
accept  what  Locke  was  saying.  "God  «  Principle,  not 
Person" — a  hundred  times  she  had  tried  to  make  him 
understand  it!  No,  he  did  not  accept  the  mystic 
Reality,  the  All-One,  of  which  she  often  spoke,  but  he 
could  still  feel  the  thrill  of  her  voice — "I  did  not  want 
anything,  Rho,  only  y-you,  to  win  you!"  and  he  knew 
that  she  loved  him.  Was  it  quite  chivalrous  to  take  a 
stand  so  utterly  opposed  to  all  that  she  believed?  .  .  . 
Untruthf ulness  ? — No,  she  never  would  intentionally 
deceive  him !  In  her  heart  there  was  utter  loyalty,  and 
it  was  brutal  of  him  to  have  been  wounded  by  a  bit  of 
roguishness.  He  owed  her  an  apology  and  would  make 


THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

it  the  first  thing  on  returning  home.  Perhaps,  if  he 
would  be  more  sympathetic,  he  might  persuade  her  to 
give  up  some  of  her  mystic  notions.  She  might  even  re- 
turn to  Old  First — yes,  and  he  would  surprise  good  old 
Locke  by  "joining  church"  with  her!  Why  not? 

He  smiled  cordially  into  Locke's  face.  "Thank  you, 
old  man,  for  your  good  words ;  you've  given  me  a  lot  to 
think  about.  Maybe  I'll  do  what  you  say — I — I 
almost  think  I  will — but  not  tonight,  Dick." 

Rhodin  Curtis  swept  the  bills  and  silver  into  his 
pocket  and  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  whis- 
tling a  popular  "rag."  Richard  Locke  sat  with  his 
head  bent  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  glowing  logs. 

The  second  morning  after  their  return  to  camp  they 
were  up  early  for  their  last  sail  and  troll  the  length  of 
Crooked  Lake.  Breakfast  was  over  and  they  were 
sitting  on  the  grassy  slope  near  the  tent.  Locke  held 
in  his  hand  a  loose-leaf  memorandum  book  from  which 
he  had  been  reading  aloud. 

"Well,  do  you  think  that  will  fetch  them,  Rho?" 
he  asked.  "Will  the  Board  accept  my  Centenary 
plans?" 

"They  seem  all  right  to  me,  Dick,  but  there's  no 
telling  what  such  old  conservatives  as  Gilbert  and  Ken- 
nedy will  say.  You  need  some  younger  blood  in  that 
Board  of  yours."  But  Rhodin  spoke  without  en- 
thusiasm, and  his  eyes  wandered  moodily  over  the  un- 
dulating green  surface  that  stretched  between  them  and 
the  point. 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  Rho;  so  when  am  I  going 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  nominating  you?"  Curtis  paid 


BESIDE  THE  NORTHERN  LAKES 

no  heed  and  Locke  turned  toward  him  to  repeat  the 
question. 

"Rho! — what's  the  matter!"  and  Locke  sprang  to- 
ward him. 

Rhodin  Curtis  was  gripping  the  guy  rope  of  the  tent 
and  staring  at  the  reeds  and  lilies.  His  face  was  ashen 
and  his  eyes  were  wide  with  horror.  Locke  laid  his 
hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder  and  the  color  gradually 
returned  to  his  face. 

"What  was  it,  Rho?"  he  asked. 

Rhodin  looked  at  him  foolishly  and  then  smiled. 

"Good  heavens,  Dick!  As  sure  as  I  see  you,  I  saw 
myself  down  there,  tangled  hand  and  foot  among  the 
reeds ! — and  I  wasn't  a  little  boy,  either !" 

They  struck  camp  that  afternoon  and  took  the  night 
sleeper  at  Petoskey. 

Curtis  was  in  high  spirits,  full  of  jest  and  laughter. 
"We've  had  a  great  week  together;  I  feel  like  a  new 
man." 

But  Richard  Locke  was  troubled. 


CHAPTER  XV 
LETTERS 

THE  end  of  the  vacation  is  the  beginning  of — catch- 
ing up !  The  postman  takes  no  vacation. 

It  was  Saturday  morning  when  Richard  Locke  got 
back  from  camp.  The  hot  weather  was  on,  a  heavy 
Sunday  was  before  him,  and  a  critical  Board  meeting 
only  three  days  distant.  He  knew  that  he  would  need 
his  full  reserve  of  strength,  and  he  was  grateful  that 
he  had  taken  at  least  one  week  among  the  northern 
lakes. 

But  the  first  sight  of  his  piled-up  desk  gave  him  a  dis- 
mal appreciation  of  what  he  once  had  heard  an  il- 
lustrious college  president  remark:  "Vacations  are 
too  costly — I  never  take  one." 

"I  looked  after  everything  I  could,  Dr.  Locke," 
cheerfully  said  Miss  Miller,  stenographer  and  clerk, 
"but  most  of  these  letters  require  your  personal  atten- 
tion, and  some  of  them  are  urgent." 

"Couldn't  Miss  Copley  have  taken  care  of  the  re- 
ports?" he  asked  with  some  annoyance,  running  his 
hand  through  several  bulky  documents  from  the  State 
Welfare  Board.  "She  seldom  finds  it  necessary  to 
refer  these  matters  to  me." 

"Miss  Copley  left  on  Wednesday  for  a  flying  visit  to 
Camp  Sherman ;  Chaplain  McRae  wired  Monday  night 


LETTERS  215 

that  his  division  had  received  orders  to  be  ready  to 
leave  on  two  hours'  notice,  so  she  went  at  once  with  Mrs. 
McRae.  She  thought,  as  you  were  not  here,  it  was  her 
duty  to  have  a  last  word  with  the  Club  boys  before  they 
sailed.  And  of  course,  she  wanted  to  say  good-by  to 
her  cousin.  Here's  a  letter  from  her  that  came  on  the 
first  delivery  this  morning." 

He  opened  it  at  once  and  read: 

Camp  Sherman, 

June  the  seventh. 
DEAR  DOCTOR  LOCKE: 

Miss  Miller  will  tell  you  of  Craig's  telegram  and  my  sudden 
determination  to  come  to  Camp  Sherman  with  cousin  Margaret. 
We  are  guests  at  the  Hostess'  House.  I  have  seen  our  boys,  and 
they  are  wonderful.  They're  enthusiastic  about  the  new  Club  name. 
Tony  Carrari  says  they  intend  to  be  "Shiners"  for  true!  I  expect 
to  spend  Sunday  at  Cincinnati;  will  be  back  again  Monday  or 
Tuesday. 

Very  sincerely, 

ROSE  COPLEY. 

"So  they're  off !"  exclaimed  Locke,  absently.  "Fight- 
ing Germans  in  northern  France  ought  to  be  a  shade 
more  exhilarating  than  fighting  sin  in  this  dead  town ! 
— I  reckon  vacations  aren't  good  for  me,"  and  he  sat 
down  to  his  accumulated  mail. 

A  thin  India  envelope,  addressed  in  a  precise,  stilted 
hand,  lay  at  the  top  of  the  pile.  He  opened  it  with 
some  interest  and  smiled  at  the  first  sentence.  A  frown 
had  gathered  before  he  finished  reading. 

The  Churches  of  Asia  Salute  You: 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  accept  your  invitation,  to  speak  in  your 
pulpit,  until  toward  the  close  of  the  summer.  I  hope  to  be  in  this 
part  of  the  State  early  in  September,  when  I  shall  call  on  you,  and, 
if  you  still  desire  it,  make  a  public  address. 


216      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

I  thank  you,  as  already  I  have  thanked  Miss  Janes — your  names 
flow  together  in  my  thought — for  the  beautiful  afternoon  at  her 
father's  house,  and  I  now  repeat  the  question  which  I  asked  you 
on  that  occasion:  How  have  you  escaped  being  a  missionary?  When 
once  you  recognize  that  "Stewardship,"  as  you  have  outlined  it  in 
Old  First  Parish  Visitor  for  June,  is  the  key  to  the  missionary 
message,  nothing  can  keep  you  from  the  waiting  millions  of  Asia ! 

No,  I  do  not  mean  that  Stewardship  will  provide  funds  for  the 
missionary  enterprise — that  is  utterly  obvious!  What  I  mean 
is  the  creative  and  spiritual  impact  of  the  message  itself.  I  have 
seen  it  demonstrated  in  heathen  villages.  Literally,  it  means  life 
from  the  dead! 

Stewardship  postulates  a  Divine  Person.  The  exalting  of  the 
separated  portion  will  mean  the  destruction  of  the  pagan  mind  in 
modern  Asia  as  once  it  meant  the  destruction  of  the  pagan  mind 
in  ancient  Israel.  Stewardship  is  a  restatement  of  fundamental 
theism — a  statement  in  terms  of  life,  so  simple  that  the  most 
ignorant  villager  can  grasp  its  meaning. 

My  brother,  Stewardship  digs  deeper  than  you  think!  The  mis- 
sionaries need  both  you  and  your  message.  Could  you  come  to 
India  within  a  year? 

JOHN  ROBERTS. 


Richard  Locke  folded  the  letter  and  placed  it  in  his 
pocket.  "No,  not  India !"  he  muttered,  and  the  frown 
on  his  face  deepened. 

By  main  strength  of  will  he  compelled  himself  to  go 
through  the  sheaf  of  letters  on  his  desk — complaining 
letters,  complimentary  letters,  beseeching  letters,  busi- 
ness letters.  But  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  he  pushed 
the  whole  burdensome  heap  to  one  side  and  took  out 
John  Roberts's  letter  again. 

Two  sentences  leaped  at  him  from  the  close  written 
sheet — "your  names  flow  together  in  my  thought" — 
"could  you  come  to  India  within  a  year?" — and  his 
eyes  turned  resentfully  toward  the  second  bookcase 
from  the  door.  Richard  Locke's  library  was  classified 


LETTERS  217 

for  instant  use ;  the  second  case  was  packed  with  "Mis- 
sions and  World  Movements." 

"Never  India !"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "The  good  Lord 
doesn't  ask  a  man  to  open  up  his  own  wounds!"  A 
sharp  knock  was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  a 
messenger  from  the  post  office. 

"Special  delivery  for  Dr.  Locke !"  called  out  the  boy 
with  aggravating  coolness.  "Please  sign  here." 

It  was  a  letter  from  McRae. 


June  seventh,  1918. 
DEAR  DICKEXS: 

I'm  sending  you  this  line  just  as  we  take  train  from  Camp  Sher- 
man. No  use  speculating  as  to  our  destination;  no  one  is  supposed 
to  know.  But  I  hae  me'  doots !  It's  a  great  adventure  and  I'm  ex- 
cited to  the  tips  of  my  fingers. 

All  the  same,  I  want  you  to  know  that  our  last  talk  together  and 
my  visit  at  your  Boys'  Club  have  jarred  me  considerably.  I'm  not 
quite  as  sure  as  I  was  that  the  big  fight  for  Christianity  will  be 
on  the  Western  front.  Perhaps  I'm  running  away  from  my  post! 
However,  it's  too  late  now;  I'm  in  for  this  business,  every  ounce 
of  me.  When  I  get  back — if  I  ever  do! — I  think  I'll  have  a  new 
grip  on  the  home  job. 

Your  "Shiners"  are  an  eye-opener  to  me.  They're  a  new  type. 
They  smoke  and  joke  with  the  other  boys,  and  I've  heard  them 
tell  some  rather  tall  stories! — and  yet  they  are  clean  fellows  and 
stalwart  witnesses  for  Jesus  Christ.  They  seem  never  to  have  learned 
the  vocabulary  of  the  churches,  but  talk  vital  spiritual  religion 
in  most  amazing  street  slang,  as  though  religion  were  a  part  of 
common  life.  Janes  tells  me  that  your  boys  are  making  religion 
actually  popular  in  the  company.  How  in  the  world  did  you  do  it, 
old  man?  You're  a  wonder! 

By  the  way,  I'm  rather  glad  the  Captain  won't  be  cruising  in 
home  waters.  A  Commissioned  Officer  carries  a  foolish  glamour  hi 
the  thought  of  patriotic  young  ladies.  However,  last  evening  while 
the  C.  O.  was  waiting  for  my  fair  cousin  to  make  her  appearance, 
Maggie  took  occasion  to  drop  a  quiet  word  suggesting  certain 
priority  claims  at  Old  First.  The  effect  was  instantaneous  though 
slightly  disconcerting  for  a  minute— you  know  Maggie  believes  in 


218      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

plain  speech.  But  the  end  was  accomplished,  and  I  can  assure  you, 
so  far  as  that  high-spirited  navigator  is  concerned,  that  a  certain 
"phantom  ship"  (I  believe  I  quote  you  correctly)  henceforth  will 
be  "Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  seal" 

Yours  for  a  sharp  look-out  and  a  quick  capture. 

MAC. 

Address  until  further  notice, 

Chaplain  Craig  McRae, 

Seventh  Division,  A.  E.  F. 

Care  New  York  Post  Office. 


Locke  smiled  foolishly.  His  first  thought  was — 
"How  utterly  idiotic!"  Then  the  impertinence  of  it 
stung  him  and  his  face  flushed.  "How  dared  he!"  he 
exclaimed,  angrily. 

With  his  lips  pressed  together  he  read  the  letter  a 
second  time.  In  all  fairness  he  could  not  question 
McRae's  loyalty.  His  fellowship  was  what  it  always 
had  been,  open  and  frank.  How,  then,  could  he  and 
his  wife  have  suggested  to  anyone  such  an  amazing 
misstatement  of  fact?  Who  had  given  them  such  an 
absurd  impression? — and  he  remembered  his  own  jest- 
ing answer  to  McRae's  importunate  question:  "A 
phantom  ship/"  He  groaned  in  bitter  self-reproach. 

What  a  fool !  To  have  given  a  j  esting  answer  when 
McRae  had  been  in  dead  earnest — and  McRae's  wife 
never  zealous  to  set  a  watch  upon  her  lips !  Had  he 
been  out  of  college  ten  years,  and  had  he  yet  to  learn 
ordinary  discretion?  It  was  goading! 

Anyhow,  he  could  correct  the  miserable  mistake, 
even  at  the  cost  of  personal  humiliation.  A  day  tele- 
gram would  reach  McRae  before  he  sailed  and  he  could 
write  at  length  after  a  few  days.  He  seized  a  tele- 
graph form  and  wrote  swiftly. 


LETTERS  219 

July  8th. 

Chaplain  Craig  McRae, 
7th  Div.  A.  E.  F. 
Care  P.  O. 

New  York. 

Special  delivery  received.  Glad  you  are  started  on  great  adven- 
ture. Watch  over  my  Shiners.  Last  para  your  letter  completely 
in  error.  Phantom  Ship  wholly  different  significance.  Please  cor- 
rect mistake  in  favor  of  party  interested. 

RICHARD  LOCKE. 


"Miss  Miller,"  he  said,  opening  the  door  into  the 
church  office,  "please  ring  up  Western  Union  and  ask 
them  to  send  a  boy  over  immediately ;  I  must  get  off  an 
important  wire."  Then  he  returned  to  his  desk  and 
glanced  over  the  telegram  he  had  just  written. 

"Phantom  ship" — "wholly  different  significance" — 
what  would  McRae  understand  by  that?  Did  his  tele- 
gram suggest,  even  by  a  hint,  the  actual  truth?  Could 
he  endure  the  familiar  chaffing  that  would  fill  McRae's 
next  letter?  And  dare  he  expose  Elizabeth  to  the 
"plain  speech"  of  the  president  of  the  Missionary 
Union  who  certainly  would  regard  it  as  her  official  duty 
to  inquire  into  the  affairs  of  "a  regularly  appointed 
missionary" — dare  he! 

He  tore  the  message  into  twenty  fragments  and 
hurled  them  into  the  waste  paper  basket. 

And  then — what  about  Rose  Copley?  Was  this 
gifted  woman  to  be  wounded,  struck  by  his  unthink- 
ing jest,  and  was  he  to  bear  no  responsibility?  Was  he 
not  in  duty  bound  to  make  honorable  reparation — if 
she  would  accept  it?  It  was  maddening! — and  Locke 
paced  the  length  of  his  study  trying  to  find  some  outlet 
to  the  hateful  labyrinth. 


220      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Miss  Miller's  cheerful  face  appeared  at  the  doorway. 
"The  boy  is  here,  Dr.  Locke,"  she  said. 

"What's  that,  Miss  Miller?" 

"The  boy  from  the  Western  Union ;  shall  I  copy  the 
telegram  for  you?" 

"Er — no,  I'll  attend  to  the  matter  myself.  Tell  the 
boy  he  needn't  wait."  Then,  as  the  door  was  closing, 
"Er — Miss  Miller,  I'll  not  need  you,  I  think,  until 
Monday." 

An  hour  later  Richard  Locke  left  his  study  "in  quiet- 
ness and  in  confidence."  His  work  was  in  his  hands, 
his  life  was  in  the  hands  of  Another.  He  had  been 
reading  Isaiah. 

Meantime  the  postman  was  weaving  other  threads. 
A  tangle  of  loose  ends  or  a  finished  fabric? — Who  shall 
say?  Two  letters  reached  Doctor  Janes's  house  on 
the  same  delivery,  both  from  Camp  Sherman.  Eliza- 
beth was  glad  her  father  was  not  at  home  when  they 
came — it  was  easier  to  hide  her  own  letter  in  her  hand- 
kerchief box  without  seeming  to  keep  it  from  him. 

June  7,  1918. 
DEAR  ELIZABETH: 

My  letter  to  father,  sent  by  this  post,  tells  of  our  orders  to 
leave  Camp  Sherman,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  It  is  for  both  of  you — 
but  this  letter  is  for  you. 

How  shall  I  tell  you  of  my  bitterness?  The  war  has  become 
dead  ashes  to  me — there's  nothing  beyond  it;  nothing  for  me.  I 
could  not  keep  it  from  you  if  I  tried,  and  your  own  gentle  words 
the  night  of  the  reception  made  me  know  that  you  had  discovered 
it — my  love  for  sweet  Rose  Copley.  At  first  she  drew  me  to  her 
because  she  made  me  think  of  you,  and  then  I  saw  that  she  was 
altogether  herself.  I  believed  that  she  understood  and  welcomed 
what  she  must  have  known  I  felt — I  say  I  believed  it.  But  yester- 


LETTERS  221 

day  I  learned  of  my  mistake.  No  matter  how!  That  fierceness 
is  past  and  I'll  not  speak  of  it — except  to  say  this :  Honor  has  sealed 
my  lips.  I  have  said  good-by  to  her,  formally,  almost  coldly,  and 
all  the  time  my  heart  was  like  a  raging  furnace!  And  last  night, 
as  if  to  mock  me,  I  dreamed  that  I  was  in  France  and  Rose  came 
to  me;  she  was  radiantly  beautiful  and  was  reaching  out  her  hands. 
She'll  never  know  my  anguish — and  that's  the  bitterness  of  it: 
she'll  never  know!  But  I  can  be  a  man,  Elizabeth.  That  much  at 
least  is  left  to  me.  Hide  this  forever  in  your  heart. 

FRANK. 

Elizabeth  held  the  letter  in  her  hand  and  the  tears 
stood  in  her  dark  eyes.  "Poor  Frank !"  she  whispered 
with  a  sister's  tender  sympathy.  Then  she  read  the 
words  again — "That  fierceness  is  past — honor  has 
sealed  my  lips."  She  leaned  back  wearily  and  a  slow 
pallor  overspread  her  face. 

Three  items  regularly  were  scheduled  for  the  early 
morning  hour  at  the  Heustis  home — the  Bible,  the 
morning  paper,  and  the  post.  But  that  morning  the 
sixty-seventh  psalm  had  been  all  absorbing,  and  the 
Gazette  was  lying  unopened  in  her  lap  when  the  post- 
man broke  in  upon  Mrs.  Heustis's  eager  reflections. 
She  was  sitting  near  the  morning-glories  that  screened 
the  front  veranda. 

"Only  one  for  you  this  time,  Mrs.  Heustis."  The 
postman  handed  her  a  small  envelope  and  touched  his 
cap. 

"But  it's  the  right  one,  Harry."  She  smiled.  Rose 
Copley  had  become  very  dear  to  her  gentle  heart.  She 
read : 

June  the  Seventh. 
DEAREST  OTHEH-MOTHER  : 

I  expect  to  be  at  home  on  Tuesday.     The  seventh  division  is 


222      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

leaving  camp  to-day.  Cousin  Craig  starts  at  eight  o'clock.  How 
I  hate  this  war !  Think  of  the  dreadful  nights  and  the  wounds — O, 
I  hate  it !  I'm  crying  myself  sick. 

ROSE. 


"The  sweet,  tender-hearted  child!'*  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Heustis.  "I  did  not  think  she  was  so  attached  to  her 
cousin.  Dr.  McRae  should  have  explained  to  her  that 
chaplains  are  not  exposed  to  the  same  risks  as  officers 
of  the  line."  Then  she  sat  musing.  "I  wonder,"  she 
said,  and  then  read  the  letter  a  second  time. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  BOARD  MEETS 

"  ¥~^\  O  I  understand  that  Dr.  Locke  proposes  to  com- 
JL-/mit  First  Church  to  practical  socialism?"  in- 
quired James  Gilbert.  "If  so,  it's  time  for  this  Board 
to  call  a  halt." 

Professor  George  Darrow  was  on  his  feet  instantly. 
"Let  me  remind  Mr.  Gilbert  that  Jesus  Christ  was  the 
first  great  socialist  and  it's  time  for  Old  First  to  get 
down  to  bedrock  Christian  principles !" 

"Come,  gentlemen — brethren!  Please  hold  to  the 
actual  proposition  now  before  us,"  and  Sanford  Ken- 
nedy, chairman,  tapped  on  the  table  with  his  penknife. 

It  was  the  regular  meeting  of  First  Church  Board 
for  June.  The  chairman  had  pushed  through  routine 
business  "in  order,"  as  he  said,  "that  the  pastor  may 
have  full  opportunity  to  present  his  plans  for  the 
Centenary."  But  Richard  Locke's  straightforward 
presentation  had  been  under  debate  for  half  an  hour 
and  his  clear  outline  had  been  talked  into  confusion. 
Fortunately,  the  chairman's  plain  common  sense  was 
able  to  save  it  from  further  misinterpretation. 

"The  chair  must  ask  the  privilege  of  saying  a  few 
words,"  he  continued,  "for  I  am  persuaded  that  we  are 
running  away  with  Dr.  Locke's  actual  proposition. 
The  challenge  of  the  pastor's  plan  is  the  simplicity  of 
it.  Of  course  it  touches  some  large  questions  in 

223 


THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

economics  and  social  reform,  but  the  church  has  got  to 
lead  out  in  these  matters.  This  war  has  upset  a  good 
many  of  our  ideas,  and  it's  likely  to  upset  a  good  many 
more.  There's  bound  to  be  reconstruction  in  business 
and  politics  and  there  ought  to  be  reconstruction  in  the 
church.  If  we're  wise  men,  we'll  get  ready  for  it. 

"What  surprises  me,  my  brothers  and  associates,  is 
that  you  seem  to  have  overlooked  the  core  and  center  of 
the  whole  matter.  This  plan  does  not  commit  the  church 
to  any  theory  of  social  or  economic  reform,  but  it  does 
unequivocally  commit  us  to  the  acknowledgment  of 
God's  ownership.  It  means  recognition  of  the  spiritual 
foundations  of  property.  With  your  permission  I 
shall  ask  Dr.  Locke  to  state  his  proposition  once  more 
— I  mean  the  core  of  it.  I  believe  it  will  clear  away 
some  of  our  confused  notions." 

"Perhaps  I've  been  like  the  boy  at  the  spring,"  began 
Locke,  rising  to  his  feet ;  "he  really  means  to  offer  you 
a  drink,  but  in  his  eagerness  he  forgets  to  turn  the 
dipper  so  that  you  can  grasp  it  by  the  handle." 

The  chairman  gave  a  broad  smile  of  recognition. 
"You  have  it,  Dr.  Locke !  The  fact  is  we've  been  try- 
ing to  get  hold  of  the  circumference  of  this  thing,  and 
some  of  us  have  wandered  as  far  as  the  Big  Dipper  at 
that!  Now  for  the  handle!" 

"I  can  say  it  in  one  word,  gentlemen — it  is  the 
Christian  law  of  'stewardship.'  It  is  a  word  that  will 
dip  deeper  into  the  spring  and  reach  farther  out  among 
the  thirsty  people  than  any  word  yet  spoken  in  the  con- 
fused babel  of  this  generation." 

Locke's  clear-cut  features  became  sharp  and  tense 
with  earnestness.  Professor  Darrow  leaned  forward, 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  225 

and  several  members  of  the  Board  who  had  shown  signs 
of  weariness  sat  up  in  their  chairs. 

"This  Program  means  the  putting  across  of  four 
definite  propositions." 

Locke  glanced  at  the  type-written  manuscript  which 
he  still  held  in  his  hand,  then,  tossing  it  aside,  he  looked 
squarely  into  the  faces  of  the  men  before  him. 

"First  of  all,  Old  First  Centenary  Program,  if 
accepted,  means  that  this  Board  recognizes  stewardship 
as  the  only  Christian  attitude  toward  property  and  in- 
come. That  covers  the  whole  field  of  acquisition,  ac- 
knowledgment, and  administration,  and  gives  us  a  con- 
structive Christian  solution  for  the  social  and  economic 
problems  of  this  city.  As  a  simple  corollary,  though 
not  as  our  main  proposition,  it  means  that  we  accept  the 
principle  of  'Kingdom'  support,  anciently  ordained  by 
God  himself,  as  our  practical  basis  of  church  finance. 
There  is  not  a  regular  member  of  First  Church  congre- 
gation— unless  he  willfully  has  closed  his  mind  to  the 
truth — who  does  not  understand  what  is  meant,  and 
what  is  not  meant,  by  the  principle  of  the  separated 
portion,  commonly  called  'the  tithe.'  This  is  not  the 
time  nor  place  for  discussion.  I  simply  ask — Is  First 
Church  ready  to  announce  its  faith  in  stewardship 
principles  as  our  businesslike  foundation  for  church 
support  ? 

"The  second  proposition  is  this:  that  First  Church 
shall  enter  upon  a  progressive  and  continuous  cam- 
paign of  community  evangelism.  Methods  and  means 
must  be  determined  as  the  work  unfolds,  but  the  stew- 
ardship of  souls  is  to  be  recognized  as  our  first  objec- 
tive. Whatever  else  Old  First  may  accomplish,  the 


226      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

glory  will  be  departed  from  her  unless  the  souls  of  men 
are  born  again  at  her  altar.  Therefore,  as  a  first  step 
in  wholesome  evangelism,  we  should  at  once  abandon 
our  system  of  'family  pews'  and  announce  that  all  sit- 
tings are  freely  open  to  the  public.  Old  First  even 
now  is  called  'the  people's  church'  and  'the  people'  have 
a  right  to  occupy  it. 

"The  third  proposition,  gentlemen,  seems  to  have 
opened  a  wide  field  for  discussion,  which,  for  my  part,  I 
do  not  regret  at  all.  The  proposition  is  this — that 
First  Church  shall  recognize  its  stewardship  of  social 
life  in  this  ward  by  building  a  commodious  club  house, 
or  parish  house  if  you  prefer  the  name,  to  be  opened 
as  a  community  center  for  all  the  people." 

"Whose  property  would  it  be?"  asked  Mr.  Gilbert 
sententiously.  In  a  moment  he  regretted  his  question, 
for  he  knew  what  Locke's  answer  would  be. 

"If  you  mean  'Who  would  hold  legal  title?'  Mr. 
Gilbert,  the  answer  is  simple — This  Board,  of  course. 
But  it  is  becoming  rather  familiar  doctrine  in  our  day, 
that  legal  title,  or  any  other  authority  for  holding 
property,  means  responsibility  for  stewardship  and 
nothing  more." 

"I  should  like  to  ask  our  pastor  just  what  he  means 
by  the  term,  'community  center' ;  for  what  purpose 
would  such  a  building  be  used?"  Dr.  Janes  asked  the 
question  with  some  anxiety  and  Locke  answered  him 
with  quiet  deference. 

"It  would  be  for  this  Board,  rather  than  the  pastor, 
to  determine  all  questions  of  possession  and  use,  yet  I 
have  rather  clear  ideas  as  to  what  ought  to  be  expected 
from  the  social  stewards  of  this  community." 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  227 

"We  shall  be  glad  to  hear  you,  D»r.  Locke,"  said  the 
chairman. 

"I  would  build  a  beautiful  and  commodious  structure 
to  be  used  seven  days  a  week  for  the  social  and  civic 
activities  of  the  people.  It  should  have  a  roomy  audi- 
torium, to  be  used  for  public  lectures,  music,  entertain- 
ments, and  should  be  furnished  with  a  pipe  organ 
always  ready  to  sound  forth  the  deeper  notes  of  rev- 
erence and  faith. 

"There  should  be  clubrooms  and  social  rooms  and  a 
refreshment  hall,  a  room  for  language  study,  and  a 
quiet  'upper  room,'  always  inviting  and  always  open 
for  prayer  and  conference.  My  own  thought  is  that 
such  a  community  house  would  become  the  natural 
center  for  the  development  of  intelligent  morality,  high 
patriotism,  and  civic  conscience.  It  would  be  broadly 
Christian  and  yet  not  in  any  sense  a  'church.'  If  Old 
First  undertook  the  enterprise,  as  a  sacred  stewardship 
of  social  life,  I  would  expect  to  see  such  a  community 
house  develop  into  a  familiar  and  homelike  place  where 
Christ  mingles  freely  with  the  people,  with  men  and 
women  in  their  hours  of  leisure  and  with  the  laughing 
children." 

There  was  a  hush  as  Locke  paused.  Sanford 
Kennedy  spoke  with  eagerness.  "I  believe  you  men- 
tioned a  fourth  proposition,  Dr.  Locke." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Kennedy,  and  it  is  this — that  First  Church 
shall  recognize  her  larger  stewardship  of  humanity  by 
undertaking  a  definite  and  worthy  part  in  the  world- 
wide enterprise  of  Christian  Missions.  I  have  named 
this  last,  but  in  any  true  perspective  of  human  need  it 
must  be  recognized  as  first." 


228      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Richard  Locke  picked  up  his  manuscript  and  opened 
it.  But  in  another  moment  he  thrust  it  into  his  pocket 
and  spoke  again  with  the  intensity  of  conviction. 

"No,  gentlemen,  I  will  not  repeat  what  I  have  said. 
The  thrill  of  human  events  is  all  about  us.  The  call  of 
the  world  is  the  command  of  Christ.  I  have  tried  to 
summarize  our  Centenary  Program  as  it  lies  in  my  own 
thought — the  least,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  any  church 
can  afford  to  undertake.  But  I  would  not  presume  to 
lay  these  propositions  before  you,  nor  the  principles  of 
Christian  stewardship  out  of  which  they  grow,  were  I 
not  convinced  that  you  are  ready  to  sacrifice  and  serve 
in  the  name  of  the  Master.  There  is  a  larger  name 
than  world-wide  democracy :  it  is  the  kingdom  of  God." 

For  a  moment  after  Locke  had  taken  his  seat  no  one 
spoke.  Even  the  most  captious  of  men  are  not  inclined 
to  talk  when  they  stand  in  the  presence  of  exalted  duty, 
nor  even  of  high  daring.  Then  the  chairman  asked  the 
question  that  has  shipwrecked  many  a  vessel  on  the 
rocks  of  parliamentary  debate. 

"Are  there  any  further  remarks?" 

James  Gilbert  arose  to  his  feet.  "I  need  not  assure 
Dr.  Locke,  nor  this  Board,  that  I  am  in  sympathy  with 
any  forward  movement  that  seems  practicable.  Nor 
do  I  care  to  discuss  the  several  propositions  that  are 
now  before  us.  I  rise  simply  to  ask  the  one  question 
which  it  is  my  misfortune  to  be  compelled  to  ask  a  good 
many  times  in  the  course  of  the  day's  business — How  is 
it  proposed  to  finance  this  ambitious  program?  Per- 
haps a  banker  may  be  forgiven  if  he  advises  caution  in 
the  present  inflated  condition  of  the  financial  world." 

The  chairman  answered  him:  "I  think  it  would  be 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  229 

well  to  vote  on  these  propositions,  as  the  preachers  say 
at  Conference,  seriatim.  In  that  case  the  Board  may 
find  that  Dr.  Locke's  first  proposition  is  the  key  to  all 
the  others." 

"Mr.  Chairman." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Addison,  I  am  sure  you  are  the  man  who 
can  illuminate  us." 

William  Addison  was  financial  secretary  of  the 
Board.  His  books  were  accurate  to  a  hair  and  his 
fondness  for  statistical  research  had  given  him  the  nick- 
name, "Mr.  Add-it-up."  Locke  smiled  as  he  arose,  for 
they  had  delved  together,  and  Locke  knew  what  he 
would  say. 

"I  take  it  for  granted,  gentlemen,  that  if  this  Board 
accepts  the  first  proposition  we  shall  do  so  with  the  full 
and  honorable  purpose  to  lead  the  membership  of  Old 
First  into  the  faith  and  practice  of  Christian  steward- 
ship. That  means,  of  course,  that  we  ourselves  will  not 
fall  below  the  minimum  of  one  tenth  as  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  God's  ownership.  With  such  leadership  and 
example  in  the  Board  itself  the  rest  of  the  church  will 
not  be  slow  to  follow." 

He  took  a  folded  sheet  from  his  pocket  and  went  on. 

"You've  called  me  'Mr.  Add-it-up,'  but,  gentlemen, 
addition  is  too  slow  for  this  proposition,  it  gets  into 
multiplication  at  once.  The  income  of  Americans  at 
the  present  time  averages  from  six  hundred  to  seven 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  I  need  not  remind  you  that 
Old  First  will  run  well  beyond  the  average.  Never- 
theless, I'll  cut  it  down  to  five  hundred  lest  the  chair- 
man might  think  I'm  overreaching  the  average  income 
in  the  Board  itelf." 


230      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Sanford  Kennedy  chuckled.  "Well,  five  hundred  a 
year  would  be  a  safe  estimate  for  most  of  us.  Go  on, 
Mr.  Addison." 

"Our  present  church  membership  is  one  thousand  two 
hundred  and  fifty-two,  not  including  adherents  nor  out- 
of-town  communicants.  Without  counting  on  a  penny 
from  general  sources  of  income  (which  has  averaged 
beyond  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  for  the  past  three 
years),  I  figure  that  two  out  of  three  among  our  mem- 
bers will  respond  to  the  whole-hearted  leadership  of 
Dr.  Locke  and  this  Board.  Surely  that  is  a  low  esti- 
mate in  these  days  of  high  thinking  and  high  consecra- 
tion. But  I'll  cut  it  down  to  one  out  of  two  just  for 
the  sake  of  figuring  safe.  You  see,  Mr.  Gilbert  has 
taught  me  to  be  cautious. 

"Now,  what  have  we? — one  half  of  our  membership 
tithing  an  average  income  of  five  hundred  dollars  a 
year  and  bringing  the  separated  tenth  into  God's  store- 
house. You  see  at  a  glance  that  Old  First  reasonably 
can  count  on  receipts  exceeding  thirty  thousand  dollars 
a  year  as  against  a  present  budget  of  $12,250 — the 
highest  in  our  history. 

"The  estimates  that  have  been  submitted  for  the  pro- 
posed Parish  House  on  Fourth  Street  call  for  an  ex- 
penditure of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Very 
well.  Let  us  do  as  any  expanding  manufacturing  con- 
cern would  do — set  apart  a  sinking  fund  to  provide 
for  additional  plant  and  power.  Ten  thousand  dollars 
a  year  would  take  care  of  the  Fourth  Street  building 
project  and  clean  up  the  entire  account,  both  principal 
and  interest,  in  a  reasonable  term  of  years.  That 
would  leave  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  our  regular 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  231 

budget  and  make  it  possible  for  Old  First  at  least  to 
begin  her  task  of  community  evangelism  and  world- 
wide missions." 

William  Addison  folded  the  sheet  again  and  turned 
toward  Sanford  Kennedy. 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  have  cut  these  figures  until  they 
bleed.  I  have  done  so  in  order  to  suggest  what  the 
acceptance  of  stewardship  principles  would  mean  even 
on  a  poor  and  meager  basis.  Therefore  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  add — that  if  some  of  the  members  of  this 
Board,  and  some  of  the  godly  members  of  the  church 
who  are  not  members  of  the  Board,  should  discover 
that  five  hundred  dollars  a  year  is  less  than  their  actual 
income,  and  if  they  should  judge  that  thank-offerings, 
in  addition  to  the  tithe,  would  be  a  fitting  return  for 
God's  watchcare  through  the  years — then  the  budget 
I  have  suggested  would  be  multiplied  by  three  and  the 
Parish  House  would  be  builded  as  a  sacrifice  of  joy  and 
thanksgiving." 

As  William  Addison  ceased  speaking  Dr.  Janes  rose 
slowly  to  his  feet.  His  tall  figure  would  have  marked 
him  in  any  company,  but  his  distinguished  bearing  and 
his  austere  yet  kindly  face  would  have  named  him  for 
what  he  was — an  aristocrat  of  the  old  school. 

"For  more  than  forty  years,"  he  said,  "I  have  sought 
to  exercise  the  ministry  of  healing,  and  much  of  that 
service  has  been  among  the  humble  and  poor  of  this 
city.  It  is  my  conviction  that  a  suitable  community 
house  for  their  use  will  be  a  public  benefit.  This  has 
been  my  judgment  for  many  years,  though  I  had  not 
thought  of  it  as  the  legitimate  work  of  the  church. 
However,  I  am  not  unfavorable  to  the  idea  that  First 


232      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Church  should  undertake  this,  provided  it  does  not  in- 
terfere with  our  pastor's  regular  ministry  upon  the 
Sabbath,  nor  with  our  own  church  services. 

"I  confess  myself  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  bearing 
of  Mr.  Addison's  remarks,  but  I  desire  at  this  time  to 
announce  my  readiness  to  give  the  sum  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  (which  I  believe  is  the  first  subscription)  toward 
the  proposed  Parish  House.  I  may  say  that  this  gift 
is  in  some  measure  an  expression  of  my  gratitude  that 
God  has  brought  my  daughter  home  to  me." 

The  doctor  held  up  his  hand  in  deprecation  of  the 
applause  that  followed,  then  resumed  his  seat.  The 
red  blood  leaped  into  Locke's  face  and  he  was  conscious 
of  the  furious  pumping  of  his  heart.  He  was  sure 
that  Dr.  Janes  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Board  must  be 
observing  his  embarrassment,  yet  he  knew  that  he  must 
speak. 

"If  the  noble  generosity  of  Dr.  Janes  needed  a  single 
word  to  make  it  perfect,  he  has  spoken  that  word  him- 
self in  making  his  gift  an  expression  of  gratitude  for 
the  return  of  Miss  Janes.  Under  these  circumstances 
it  seems  ungracious  for  the  pastor  to  challenge  Dr. 
Janes'  suggestion  that  his  own  generous  gift  is  the  first 
subscription  toward  the  proposed  Parish  House. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  my  duty  and  my  joy  to  report  to 
you  a  subscription  that  has  been  planned  for  many 
months  and  that  was  formally  announced  two  weeks 
ago  to-night." 

And  then  Locke  told  the  story  of  "The  Shiners" — 
how  his  work  among  the  Italian  boys  had  grown  and 
prospered,  how  the  boys  themselves  had  offered  their 
precious  tithes  for  the  work  at  Old  First,  and  how 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  233 

Rhodin  Curtis,  non-churchman  and  man  of  the  world, 
had  guaranteed  a  total  of  six  thousand  dollars  on  the 
boys'  account. 

The  effect  was  electric.  James  .Gilbert  was  on  his 
feet  in  an  instant. 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  am  not  yet  ready  to  subscribe  to 
the  principles  of  Christian  stewardship  which  Dr. 
Locke  so  patiently  and  persistently  has  taught.  I  do 
not  oppose  the  teaching,  I  simply  have  never  yet  ob- 
served the  practice,  and  I  hesitate  to  begin.  Perhaps 
the  banker's  favorite  word,  'conservative,'  describes  my 
case,  perhaps  a  stronger  and  less  euphonious  word 
should  be  used. 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  Dr.  Locke  has  stirred  my  heart, 
the  more  so  as  most  of  those  boys  have  savings  accounts 
at  the  City  National  Bank ;  and  I  have  been  shamed  by 
Dr.  Janes's  magnificent  offer  in  the  presence  of  this 
Board.  If  Rhodin  Curtis  can  afford  to  match  the 
Club  tithes,  dollar  for  dollar,  there's  nothing  left  for 
me  but  to  match  them  both,  and  to  add  a  couple  of 
thousand  for  good  measure." 

In  the  tense  silence  that  followed,  William  Addi- 
son's  level  voice  was  heard  reading  from  the  notebook 
on  his  knee.  "  'The  Shiners,'  three  thousand  dollars ; 
Rhodin  Curtis,  three  thousand  dollars;  Dr.  Janes,  ten 
thousand  dollars;  James  Gilbert,  fourteen  thousand 
dollars.  Total,  thirty  thousand  dollars."  But  no 
one  paid  the  least  attention  to  him,  for  Sanford  Ken- 
nedy was  standing  behind  the  chairman's  table  trying 
to  control  his  voice  as  he  addressed  the  Board. 

"Brethren,  I  have  been  dull  indeed!  As  a  young 
man  I  used  to  pay  my  tithe.  The  joy  of  the  Lord  was 


234      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

with  me  and  a  tenth  of  my  small  salary  seemed  a 
meager  sum  for  the  wonderful  work  of  the  church. 
Then  prosperity  came  and  my  subscriptions  were 
greatly  increased.  The  amounts  actually  given  were 
so  much  larger  than  my  former  tithe  that  I  considered 
it  was  no  longer  necessary  to  set  apart  that  portion. 
I  was  caught  in  the  net  of  the  enemy  even  while  I  sat 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord.  And,  brethren,  until  last 
week  I  never  understood  why  it  was  that  victory  had 
gone  out  of  my  life." 

Sanford  Kennedy  cleared  his  throat  and  went  on. 

"My  dullness  was  that  I  always  regarded  'the  tithe' 
as  a  financial  scheme  for  supporting  the  church.  I 
did  not  recognize  that  it  was  my  acknowledgment  of 
God's  personal  dominion  over  all  my  property,  and 
therefore  over  myself.  I  have  been  called  generous, 
but  I  have  never  recognized  the  spiritual  foundations  on 
which  property  rests.  For  two  weeks  I  have  done  some 
of  the  hardest  thinking  of  my  life.  Last  Friday,  when  I 
instructed  our  head  bookkeeper  to  open  a  special  trust 
account,  and  carry  into  it  one  tenth  of  all  my  holdings, 
it  was  like  the  falling  of  rain  on  dry  and  thirsty 
ground." 

The  chairman's  face  was  shining.  "Brethren,  this 
isn't  financing  a  Parish  House — this  is  an  excursion  in 
the  Land  of  Beulah!  I  cannot  pay  my  debt  to  God, 
even  after  I  have  acknowledged  it,  but  I  can  rejoice  in 
his  goodness!  Brother  Addison,  take  out  your  note- 
book and  match  me  dollar  for  dollar  against  the  field! 
It  is  a  'thank-offering'  to  God." 

"Sixty  thousand  dollars,  gentlemen !"  came  the  level 
tones  of  William  Addison.  "I  reckon  the  Board  in- 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  235 

tends  to  walk  off  with  this  proposition  without  giving 
the  rest  of  the  church  a  chance !" 

"It  can't  be  done!"  said  Locke,  eagerly.  "Mrs. 
Heustis  already  has  authorized  me  to  say  that  she 
holds  herself  in  readiness  to  support  whatever  Cente- 
nary program  the  Board  decides  to  adopt,  and  that 
she  desires  the  name  of  her  husband  to  be  associated 
with  the  Parish  House  as  the  donor  of  an  equal  amount 
with  Sanford  Kennedy,  his  lifelong  friend." 

"Caleb  Heustis  was  God's  prince!"  The  chairman 
spoke  with  deep  feeling. 

"Only  ten  thousand  remaining,"  continued  the  finan- 
cial secretary.  "My  advice,  gentlemen,  is  to  pick  your 
shares  while  you  have  the  opportunity,  for  one  of  the 
ten  comes  straight  to  me,"  and  he  wrote  his  own  name 
with  a  look  of  intense  satisfaction. 

"I'm  not  able  to  pull  in  the  same  boat  with  these 
strong  oarsmen,"  said  Professor  Darrow,  rising  to  his 
feet.  "They  have  lifted  me  by  their  open-handed 
generosity.  But  I  must  have  some  share  in  this 
matter.  Will  you  accept  the  meager  gift  of  five  hun- 
dred dollars?" 

"You  can't  afford  it,  George,"  exclaimed  James 
Gilbert.  "I  know  the  struggle  you're  having  with  that 
mortgage !  I've  been  shamed  to-night,  more  than  once, 
and  yet  something  tells  me  that  my  shame  will  become 
my  rejoicing.  Perhaps  this  particular  banker  will 
have  to  recast  his  whole  theory  of  money !  In  any  case 
I  ask  the  Board  to  let  me  assume  the  last  ten  thousand." 

"I'll  put  you  down  for  ten  thousand  all  right,  Mr. 
Gilbert,"  said  William  Addison,  smiling,  "but  I'm 
already  in  on  this,  and  you  can't  shut  me  out !" 


236      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Nor  me!" 

"Nor  me!" 

A  dozen  voices  joined  in  while  Locke  looked  on 
stupefied  with  wonder. 

"Where  do  we  stand  now,  Mr.  Addison?"  asked  San- 
ford  Kennedy  after  five  minutes  of  spontaneous  pledg- 
ing had  covered  two  pages  of  the  secretary's  notebook. 
"I  reckon  a  good  margin  will  be  safe  on  a  proposition 
as  big  as  Old  First  Centenary.  We  are  getting  things 
started  so  that  the  Church  can  come  in  on  the  main 
proposition." 

"One  hundred  and  twelve  thousand,  five  hundred 
dollars,"  answered  the  secretary  as  he  quickly  footed 
the  amounts. 

Slowly  the  chairman  turned  toward  the  pastor. 
"Will  that  do  for  a  starter,  Dr.  Locke?"  he  said.  But 
Locke  could  not  answer  him. 

"According  to  my  reckoning,"  continued  the  chair- 
man, addressing  the  Board,  "we  are  about  ready  to 
vote  on  Dr.  Locke's  four  resolutions.  Are  there  any 
further  remarks?" 

"I'm  ready  to  vote  on  that  tithing  proposition  as  a 
matter  of  economy,"  said  James  Gilbert,  laughing. 
"At  the  rate  I've  been  going  this  evening  it  will  save 
me  a  deal  of  money." 

"Mr.  Chairman."  Dr.  Janes  again  had  risen.  "I 
am  heartily  in  favor  of  all  that  is  before  us  except  the 
second  resolution.  But  I  cannot  give  my  consent 
when  Dr.  Locke  proposes  to  abandon  our  system  of 
family  pews  and  open  our  sittings  indiscriminately  to 
the  public.  Surely  'family  religion'  is  to  have  some 
place  among  us.  I  say  with  all  humility  that  our 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  237 

church  is  not  the  place  for  Italians,  Portuguese,  and 
every  sort  of  immigrant  who  comes  to  this  country 
for  a  living.  They  will  be  happier  elsewhere,  and  we 
shall  be  better  able  to  direct  the  spiritual  life  of  our 
church  if  we  go  on  as  we  are.  Let  us  keep  our  beloved 
Old  First  as  a  sanctuary  sacred  to  those  dear  ones  by 
whose  labors  it  was  founded,  sacred  to  the  noble  tradi- 
tions of  its  past,  sacred  to  God." 

There  was  no  response,  and  Dr.  Janes  went  on  with 
a  note  of  petulance  in  his  voice. 

"I  approve  heartily,  as  I  think  I  have  demonstrated, 
the  plan  for  a  Parish  House;  we  are  to  help  the  poor 
and  unfortunate  as  we  have  opportunity.  But  I  can- 
not consent  that  my  own  family  reservation  shall  be 
occupied  by  strangers.  On  several  occasions  I  have 
found  young  Italians  in  my  pew,  and  a  week  ago  my 
daughter  was  compelled  to  sit  during  the  entire  service 
by  the  side  of  two  Italian  recruits,  one  of  them  that 
young  shoe-shining  promoter,  Tony  Carrari." 

"I  reckon  Miss  Elizabeth  didn't  mind  it,"  said  the 
chairman,  smiling.  Locke  was  in  deep  distress.  The 
doctor  answered  with  dignity. 

"That  is  quite  beside  the  point,  Mr.  Kennedy.  We 
send  missionaries  as  we  build  mission  houses,  to  do 
good  among  the  backward  and  fallen  classes.  But  we 
do  not  invite  them  to  our  homes  and  we  do  not  make 
them  our  social  equals.  Surely,  the  people  can  attend 
First  Church  services  and  find  ample  accommodation 
in  the  free  pews  and  the  galleries." 

"Will  Dr.  Janes  vote  against  the  resolution  because 
he  thinks  a  brave  American  soldier  is  unfit  to  sit  be- 
side his  own  missionary  daughter?"  William  Addi- 


238      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

son's  level  voice  brought  a  flush  to  the  proud  face  of 
the  doctor.  But  before  he  could  reply  Richard  Locke 
was  on  his  feet. 

"Brethren,  hear  me!  It  hardly  was  considerate  of 
me  to  introduce  that  second  resolution  in  such  a  way  as 
to  force  an  innovation  upon  our  honored  pewholders. 
If  the  resolution  is  approved  let  it  be  with  the  proviso 
that  all  pewholders  who  desire  it  shall  retain  their  pres- 
ent sittings.  Old  First  hospitality  must  be  of  grace 
and  not  of  compulsion." 

"I  thank  Dr.  Locke  for  his  consideration,  and,  with 
that  understanding,  I  am  entirely  ready  to  support  the 
resolution." 

Dr.  Janes  inclined  his  head  graciously,  but  Locke 
had  turned  away  his  face  and  did  not  see  him.  He  had 
a  stinging  sense  of  self-condemnation.  Had  he  com- 
promised his  own  conscience  to  save  Elizabeth's  father 
from  embarrassment?  Sanford  Kennedy's  kindly 
voice  was  heartening  and  gave  him  back  his  poise. 

"We  shall  lose  nothing  by  patience,  my  brethren, 
and  consideration  is  more  precious  than  machinery. 
Hospitality  comes  from  fellowship  and  not  by  statute. 
Old  First  will  win  the  people  by  the  genuineness  of  our 
desire  and  not  by  any  Centenary  resolution." 

With  these  generous  words  from  the  chairman,  the 
one  unhappy  incident  of  the  meeting  was  turned  aside. 
If  Dr.  Janes  was  somewhat  formal  in  his  views,  no  one 
could  be  more  gentle  in  his  ministry.  His  skill  and  his 
boundless  charities  were  known  throughout  the  city. 
The  four  Centenary  resolutions  were  passed  with  a 
ringing  vote,  and  a  building  committee  was  appointed 
that  very  night  to  prepare  plans  and  specifications. 


THE  BOARD  MEETS  239 

After  the  meeting  had  adjourned,  Richard  Locke 
sat  late  in  his  study.  The  Centenary  was  succeeding 
beyond  his  largest  expectations.  He  knew  that  the 
Spirit  of  God  was  moving  among  the  people,  and  he 
was  reverently  glad  that  in  some  degree  he  had  been 
able  to  interpret  the  divine  plan.  Yet  a  heaviness 
rested  upon  him  that  he  could  not  shake  off.  And  he 
was  disquieted  by  Dr.  Janes's  parting  words — 

"Come  often,  Dr.  Locke,  and  see  us;  we  shall  be 
lonely  now  that  Frank  is  gone." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH 

THE  summer  of  1918  saw  the  breaking  of  Germany. 
Until  the  middle  of  June  the  thrust  toward  Paris 
was  full  of  dread.  The  "miracle  gun"  that  flung  death 
from  the  forest  of  St.  Gobain,  seventy-five  miles  across 
the  countryside,  did  more  than  slay  a  few  worshipers 
at  church,  it  brought  apprehension  amounting  to  dis- 
may. The  help  promised  from  America  would  arrive 
too  late! 

But  after  the  middle  of  May  it  was  evident  that  the 
German  advance  was  slowing  down;  June  saw  it  posi- 
tively checked.  Then  came  the  electrifying  news  from 
Chateau  Thierry  and  the  assurance  from  Washington 
that  American  troops,  at  the  rate  of  a  quarter  of  a 
million  every  thirty  days,  actually  were  landing  on  the 
shores  of  France.  The  unity  of  the  allied  War  Council 
became  apparent  when  the  ugly  enemy  salient  between 
Soissons  and  Rheims  began  to  straighten  and  the  Brit- 
ish drive  north  of  the  Somme  pushed  relentlessly  for- 
ward. Marshal  Foch  was  engineering  every  move 
from  Dixmude  to  the  Alps. 

But  news  from  France  was  meager.  Captain  Frank 
Janes  sent  brief  letters  to  his  sister  that  told  of  hard 
work  and  growing  responsibility.  "We're  somewhere 
back  of  the  front,"  he  wrote  toward  the  middle  of 
August,  "practicing  every  move  of  the  game,  from 

240 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH  241 

sentry  duty  to  following  a  make-believe  barrage.  It's 
exciting  enough  to  be  interesting,  and  there's  good 
prospect  that  we'll  see  real  sport — before  Christmas." 

When  Elizabeth  sent  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Heustis,  Rose 
Copley  listened  to  the  reading  of  it  with  forced  quiet- 
ness. But  when  gentle  Mrs.  Heustis  found  Rose 
sobbing  in  her  bedroom  the  mother  heart  quickly  under- 
stood. 

"Cry  it  all  out,  dear,"  she  said ;  "it  will  make  you  feel 
better." 

"You  mustn't  b-breathe  a  word,"  Rose  choked,  hid- 
ing her  face  in  Mrs.  Heustis'  neck,  "especially  n-not  to 
Elizabeth!" 

"Not  a  word,  child;  I  understand  perfectly;  and  I 
believe  it  will  come  out  all  right — I  know  it  will!"  and 
she  patted  her  affectionately. 

Rose  could  not  have  told  why  she  sang  all  the  rest 
of  the  day,  for  the  fear  of  wounds  and  death  lay  on 
her  heavily. 

Tony  Carrari's  letters  to  the  "Shiners"  were  works 
of  art.  Richard  Locke  read  every  one  of  them  and 
laughed  for  gladness — especially  when  McRae  wrote, 
"They're  a  new  order  of  saints,  Dickens,  husky  and 
red-blooded,  yet  sworn  defenders  of  Jesus  Christ; 
they're  the  kind  of  fellows  that  will  transform  the 
church  from  a  society  of  piffle  into  an  expeditionary 
force — that  is,  if  the  church  can  hold  them !" 

And  Locke  sent  back  a  hot  rejoinder:  "I  don't  ex- 
pect the  church  to  hold  them;  they,  and  red-blooded 
men  like  them,  will  hold  the  church !" 

Elizabeth  spent  most  of  the  summer  in  New  Eng- 
land. Her  father  said  she  "might  as  well  have  re- 


242      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

mained  in  India  as  to  spend  the  heated  term  in  the 
city."  But  Elizabeth  insisted  that  she  had  come  home 
to  be  with  her  father  and  she  had  no  intention  of  leav- 
ing him.  So  they  compromised  on  six  weeks  together 
in  the  White  Mountains. 

Locke  had  a  sense  of  relief  when  Doctor  Janes  and 
Elizabeth  had  gone.  He  could  not  well  evade  the 
doctor's  frequent  invitations  to  "call  and  talk  over  the 
plans  for  the  Parish,"  and  yet  a  call  at  Dr.  Janes's 
was  playing  with  fire.  So  he  plunged  headlong  into 
the  summer's  work,  grateful  every  day  that  the  hours 
were  crowded. 

One  thing  it  is  needful  to  record :  Locke  was  kind  to 
Rose  Copley;  he  was  even  gentle.  He  could  not  but 
observe  that  her  naturally  gay  and  animated  manner 
had  become  reserved,  almost  pensive,  and  he  hated  him- 
self for  the  grievous  injury  that  he  had  caused.  He 
was  resolved  that  he  would  make  her  an  honorable 
offer  of  marriage;  it  was  his  only  possible  reparation. 
He  esteemed  and  admired  her;  he  believed  that  he 
would  come  to  love  her — besides,  the  word  once  spoken 
would  bring  quiet  to  his  own  turbulent  spirit. 

And  yet  the  summer  passed  and  the  word  was  not 
spoken.  With  the  instinct  of  every  pure-minded  man, 
Locke  could  not  offer  marriage  where  he  did  not  offer 
love.  And  he  hated  himself  the  more  because  of  it. 

But  the  torture  through  which  Locke  was  passing 
became  almost  unendurable  when  he  discovered  that 
Rhodin  Curtis  was  slipping  away  from  him.  He  be- 
gan to  recognize  the  change  soon  after  their  return 
from  camp,  an  air  of  indifference  that  Rhodin  never 
had  shown  during  the  three  years  of  their  friendship. 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH 

What  wounded  Locke  particularly  was  his  casual  atti- 
tude toward  the  Centenary  plans  that  had  been 
adopted. 

"I  suppose  I'm  in  for  three  thousand  dollars,  and  as 
much  again  if  those  kids  fall  down  on  me — which  no 
doubt  they  will !" 

The  unsympathetic  words  were  spoken  at  the  bank, 
the  day  following  the  Board  meeting.  Locke  had 
stopped  at  Rhodin's  desk  to  tell  him  the  good  news. 
He  felt  the  chill  in  Rhodin's  voice,  but  put  it  down  to  his 
familiar  habit  of  raillery. 

"It  was  your  subscription,  Rho,  that  started  the  ball 
to  rolling." 

"Yes,  Gilbert  told  me  that  I  crowded  the  high- 
brow doctor  out  of  his  favorite  stunt  of  pushing  to  the 
front  of  the  stage." 

Locke  flushed.  He  knew  and  regretted  Dr.  Janes's 
one  weakness,  his  family  pride,  but  it  angered  him  to 
have  Elizabeth's  father  flaunted  with  rude  speech. 
Rhodin  often  used  picturesque  slang,  but  never  before 
had  there  been  a  sting  to  it.  Locke  did  not  answer 
him. 

"You  see,  I  can't  run  with  your  church  crowd  any 
more  than  a  coyote  can  run  with  a  pack  of  deer 
hounds.  I  wonder  that  your  elect  Board  was  willing 
to  accept  the  unbaptized  dollars  of  a  worldling." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  regret  your  generous  offer,  Rho," 
said  Locke,  with  quietness.  He  was  too  hurt  to  con- 
ceal the  pain  he  felt. 

"No,  no ! — I'll  redeem  that  pledge  to  the  last  dollar 
— unless  I'm  bankrupt  when  you  call  for  it,"  and 
Rhodin  held  out  his  hand  in  half  apology. 


244      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Locke  tried  to  put  the  incident  from  his  mind,  but 
it  remained  with  him.  It  troubled  him  so  greatly  that 
he  called  at  the  bank,  after  a  day  or  two,  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  wave  his  hand  toward  Rhodin  in  a 
cheery  salute.  But  the  cashier  was  not  at  his  desk. 
On  inquiry  Locke  learned  that  he  would  be  gone  for 
ten  days. 

"A  trip  to  New  York,"  said  Brooks,  assistant 
cashier. 

A  fortnight  later  Locke  was  passing  the  bank  just 
as  Curtis  drove  up  in  his  car.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
jaunty  suit  of  light  summer  fabric,  very  different  from 
the  quiet  gray  that  he  usually  wore.  An  expensive 
Panama  hat  was  perched  on  the  back  of  his  head. 

"Hello,  Locke,"  he  called  out  as  he  drew  into  the 
curb.  "Have  you  got  the  roof  on  your  new  clubhouse 
yet?"  The  voice  was  easy  and  familiar,  but  there  was 
a  flippancy  of  manner  that  jarred.  Intimacy  be- 
comes an  offense  when  it  does  not  rest  on  genuine  re- 
spect and  affection.  But  Locke  overlooked  Rhodin's 
altered  manner  and  greeted  him  cordially. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  successful  trip,  Rho?"  he  said. 

"Great !"  he  answered.  "Did  a  good  stroke  of  busi- 
ness for  the  bank,  and,  incidentally,  pulled  down  a 
thousand  or  two  for  yours  truly.  'Coordinated 
Copper'  took  a  turn  the  first  day  I  was  in  New  York 
and  I  had  sense  enough  to  unload  for  fourteen 
thousand.  I  covered  those  lost  margins  of  mine  and 
walked  out  of  the  game  about  eighteen  hundred  to  the 
good." 

"I'm  glad  of  that;  now  I  suppose  you'll  let  'war 
brides'  severely  alone." 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH  245 

"Not  on  your  life,  Locke!"  The  intimate  "Dick," 
to  which  Richard  Locke  had  grown  accustomed,  was 
hearty  and  frank ;  it  always  had  come  with  the  genuine- 
ness of  a  boy's  friendship.  But  the  familiar  use  of  his 
surname  grated  on  his  ears  unpleasantly. 

"Not  on  your  life!"  he  repeated.  "I  put  that  roll 
into  Mexican  Petroleum,  and  if  I  don't  turn  the  trick 
this  time  you  may  put  me  down  for  a  lobster !  This  is 
my  second  stake  on  'Mex.  Pete' — that's  what  they  call 
it  in  Wall  Street — and  the  market  creeps  steadily 
upward.  I  guess  that  'Shiners'  subscription  of  mine 
must  be  my  mascot! — gives  me  an  interest  in  the 
'Shiners' '  prayers,  eh,  Locke?" 

Rhodin  passed  into  the  bank  laughing  and  Locke 
walked  toward  the  church  with  mingled  feelings  of 
anger,  chagrin,  and  sorrow.  But  when  Rose  Copley 
met  him  at  the  tower  door  to  tell  him  that  "Leetla 
Jeem's"  mother  had  died  during  the  night,  pity  and 
grief  were  all  his  heart  could  hold  for  poor  Rho  Curtis ! 

It  was  a  grain  of  comfort,  when  he  told  Rhodin  of 
Jeemy's  desolation,  that  Rhodin's  eyes  filled.  "Make 
the  best  arrangement  for  the  little  fellow  that  you 
can,  Dick,  and  count  on  me  for  the  expense,"  he  said. 

At  about  half  past  ten  on  Saturday  morning, 
August  31,  a  messenger  from  King  and  Kennedy  called 
at  the  City  National  Bank  and  handed  Rhodin  Curtis 
the  following  letter. 

August  31,  1918 
Rhodin  Curtis,  Esq. 

Cashier  The  City  National  Bank. 
DEAR  SIR: 

With  reference  to  our  note  for  ninety  days,  due  to-day,  I  am 


246      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

disappointed  that  our  London  correspondents  have  not  yet  sent  us 
certain  remittances,  as  expected.  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  delay 
is  due  to  irregularity  in  the  mail  service,  though  it  is  quite  possible 
that  the  London  house  may  require  further  time  for  adjustment. 
The  security  is  abundant,  as  you  know. 

Under  the  circumstances  we  shall  find  it  necessary  to  avail 
ourselves  of  your  offer  of  extension  for  part  of  our  note.  I  am 
therefore  handing  you  New  York  Exchange  for  $65,000,  part  pay- 
ment. 

Please  make  an   extension   of   sixty   days    for   the   remaining 
$20,000  and  charge  the  discount  against  our  account. 
Yours  truly, 

(For  King  and  Kennedy) 

SAN  FORD  KENNEDY, 

President. 

Rhodin  pressed  a  button  at  the  side  of  his  desk. 

"Luther,  ask  Mr.  Jarvis  to  send  me  King  and  Ken- 
nedy's note,  dated  June  1st."  The  note  was  laid  on 
his  desk  and  he  indorsed  it  as  follows: 

$65,000  paid  on  maturity  hereof;  $20,000  extended  for  sixty 
days  from  August  31,  1918.  Discount,  $200,  charged  to  King  & 
Kennedy  a/c. 

R.  C. 

Then  he  handed  the  messenger  the  bank's  formal  re- 
ceipt for  $65,000  and  dismissed  him  with  a  pleasant 
nod. 

On  the  second  delivery  a  letter  was  placed  in  his 
hands,  marked  "Personal."  He  let  it  lie  until  he  had 
cleaned  up  the  day's  work.  Then  he  opened  it.  It 
was  from  Passmore,  cashier  of  Rockway  and  Company, 
and  was  as  follows: 

NEW  YORK,  August  29,  1918. 
MY  DEAR  CURTIS: 

I  am  sending  you  statement  of  Mex  Pete,  as  requested,  showing 
status  of  your  1,000  shares  purchased  May  28,  and  700  shares  pur- 
chased June  18.  The  statement,  as  you  note,  includes  our  com- 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH  247 

mission,  interest  charges  to  date,  and  war  tax.  The  firm  is  ready 
to  make  the  sale  for  you,  as  you  suggest.  In  that  case,  at  present 
market  price  of  102,  we  will  send  you  our  check,  for  $49,512.50, 
which  will  cover  the  margins  advanced  by  you  and  give  you  a 
tidy  profit  of  $15,512.50  on  the  investment. 

But  I  strongly  advise  you  to  hold  what  you  have  and  buy  more. 
The  market  has  advanced  ten  points  in  ninety  days.  It  cannot 
drop  from  present  figures  unless  the  Germans  recover  their  waning 
strength.  German  propaganda  is  active  on  'change.  The  effect 
of  it  is  seen  in  a  determined  effort  to  depress  Mex  Pete  and  other 
war  stocks.  But  it  can't  be  done.  The  Allies  are  going  to  win! 
If  you  believe  it,  hold  what  you  have  and  buy. 

You've  already  got  a  good  thing.  If  you'll  leave  your  profit 
where  it  is,  and  send  us  another  $20,000  to  keep  it  company,  we 
can  buy  1,800  more  shares  for  you,  making  3,500  in  all,  and 
there's  nothing  under  heaven  to  prevent  you  cleaning  up  a  quarter 
of  a  million — nothing  except  the  defeat  of  Uncle  Sam  and  the 
Allies.  Mex  Pete  will  be  soaring  inside  a  month,  and  you  can 
make  your  pile  within  sixty  days.  There  are  nineteen  different 
ways  of  securing  a  loan  and  they're  all  legitimate — when  you've 
got  a  dead  cinch! 

Yours  expecting, 

E.  H.  PASSMORE. 

P.  S.  Gilbert  has  just  wired  us  to  sell  another  block  of  Penn- 
sylvania on  his  account  and  buy  Mex  Pete.  He's  got  a  long  head — 
and  I  believe  you  have  also. 

E.  H.  P. 

Monday,  September  2,  was  Labor  Day  and  the 
City  National  Bank  did  not  open.  On  Tuesday, 
shortly  after  banking  hours,  Sanford  Kennedy  entered 
through  a  side  door  and  stopped  beside  the  cashier's 
desk.  He  was  smiling. 

"I  suppose  I've  dropped  two  hundred  dollars,"  he 
said. 

"How's  that,  Mr.  Kennedy?"  answered  Curtis. 

"By  renewing  that  balance  for  sixty  days  and  pay- 
ing the  discount.  The  London  remittance  came  this 
morning  and  is  already  deposited  to  our  account." 


248      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"If  it  will  be  any  accommodation,  Mr.  Kennedy,  the 
bank  will  be  glad  to  cancel  the  twenty  thousand  renewal 
— though  it  will  cost  you  ten  dollars  for  the  three  days 
it  has  run  since  Saturday.  You  see  we'll  have  to 
gouge  you  a  bit!" 

"That's  all  right,  Rhody,  and  I'm  lucky  to  get  off 
at  that!  If  you'll  give  me  a  check  I'll  fix  the  matter 
right  now." 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  and  he  handed  him  a 
blank  check.  "I'll  make  out  a  credit  slip  for  one 
hundred  and  ninety  dollars,  to  be  returned  to  your 
account.  That  will  take  care  of  the  balance  of  dis- 
count already  paid,  and  will  close  the  transaction. 
I'm  glad  we  could  give  you  the  accommodation." 

"It  was  a  genuine  service,  Mr.  Curtis,  and  another 
illustration  of  what  the  public  is  likely  to  forget — 
that  constructive  finance  is  necessary  to  the  winning  of 
the  war,  no  less  than  machine  guns." 

Sanf ord  Kennedy  filled  in  the  check  while  he  was 
speaking.  Then  he  handed  it  to  Rhodin. 

"I'll  send  you  the  canceled  note,  Mr.  Kennedy;  it's 
too  late  to  get  it  out  of  the  vault  to-day." 

"You  needn't  bother  about  it  on  my  account,  Rhody. 
I  never  keep  canceled  bank-paper.  I've  no  use  for  a 
peach-stone  after  I've  eaten  the  peach." 

"You're  out  of  date  for  a  chemist,  Mr.  Kennedy ;  the 
Germans  have  shown  us  that  poison  gas  from  old 
peach  stones  is  rather  a  desperate  business !"  Rhodin 
laughed  and  glanced  at  the  check  that  Mr.  Kennedy 
had  just  handed  ]jrim.  Then  he  looked  up  quickly. 

"You've  made  this  check  payable  to  me,  Mr. 
Kennedy." 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH  249 

Kennedy  looked  at  it.  "That's  so !  Well,  it's  only 
another  illustration  of  Dr.  Locke's  last  sermon.  Why 
don't  we  ever  see  you  at  church,  Rhody?" 

"O,  I'm  going  to  surprise  you  all  one  of  these  days 
— after  I  make  my  pile!  What  did  Locke  preach 
about?" 

"  'The  Unconscious  Influence  of  Association.'  You 
see  I  was  talking  to  you  while  I  was  writing  the  check !" 
and  Sanford  Kennedy  laughed  heartily.  "But  I  won't 
change  it  now,"  he  added.  "Just  indorse  it  and  turn  it 
in.  I'd  rather  like  your  name  on  the  back  of  that  slip 
of  paper." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Kennedy ;  I'll  hand  you  a  receipt  for 
the  amount,"  and  Rhodin  laid  the  check  on  his  desk. 

The  first  of  the  month  and  a  holiday  coming  together 
held  the  cashier  until  after  five  o'clock.  Clara  was 
not  at  home  and  Rhodin  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  his 
desk.  He  took  out  Passmore's  letter  and  read  it  again 
— down  to  the  last  line : — "There  are  nineteen  different 
ways  of  securing  a  loan  and  they're  all  legitimate — 
when  you've  got  a  dead  cinch !" 

"The  fool !  There  are  nineteen  hundred  ways  when 
you  can  put  up  the  collateral!"  He  straightened  the 
loose  papers  on  his  desk  and  pinned  Mr.  Kennedy's 
credit  slip  and  check  together,  ready  to  pass  over  to 
the  note  teller  the  following  morning.  As  he  did  so 
he  glanced  at  the  check  again,  then  thrust  it  under- 
neath a  glass  paper-weight  as  though  it  had  burned 
him. 

He  drove  out  Park  Road,  but  did  not  stop  at  his  own 
house.  He  continued  at  high  speed  straight  into  the 
country.  Once  he  looked  behind  him  nervously.  He 


250      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

was  trying  to  get  away  from  the  fierce  thing  that  had 
leaped  at  him  as  he  closed  his  desk. 

The  whole  thing  was  so  stupidly  simple! — and  that 
was  the  fierceness  of  it.  The  bank  records  were  in 
perfect  order,  Mr.  Kennedy's  letter  requesting  a  re- 
newal was  on  file,  the  renewed  note  was  in  the  vault,  the 
discount  for  sixty  days  had  been  paid.  All  he  needed 
to  do  was  to — do  nothing.  "There  are  nineteen  differ- 
ent ways  of  securing  a  loan  and  they're  all  legitimate 
— when  you've  got  a  dead  cinch !"  He  could  see  the 
check  under  the  glass  paper-weight  and  he  increased 
his  speed. 

At  half  past  six  he  drove  up  in  front  of  the  Hamil- 
ton House.  Richard  Locke  was  standing  on  the  steps. 
He  hailed  him. 

"You're  just  the  man  I  want,  Rho !  Our  Building 
Committee  are  taking  dinner  together  to-night  and  de- 
ciding plans  at  the  same  time.  We  want  your  judg- 
ment on  a  clubroom  for  the  'Shiners.' ' 

"Who  are  the  committee?" 

"Kennedy,  Gilbert,  and  Addison." 

"All  right;  I'll  sit  with  you.  That  was  the  one 
reason  I  went  into  it  at  first,  to  provide  a  decent  place 
for  the  boys." 

"We  all  know  it,  Rho,  and  the  committee  will  be  glad 
for  your  help." 

But  at  table  the  American  drive  southeast  of  Sois- 
sonS  was  the  all-absorbing  theme;  it  was  difficult  to 
speak  of  anything  else. 

"I  tell  you,  Kennedy,  the  fighting  will  be  over  by 
Christmas,"  said  James  Gilbert,  with  emphasis.  "The 
surest  proof  of  it  is  the  falling  to  pieces  of  the  Berlin 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH  251 

stock  market  and  the  steady  rise  of  securities  in  Lon- 
don, Paris,  and  New  York,  especially  war  stocks." 

"Take  'Mexican  Petroleum'  for  instance,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  picked  up  a  little  of  that  stock  a  few 
months  ago  and  I've  studied  it  rather  closely.  Mex 
Pete  (that's  the  pet  name  for  it  in  Wall  Street)  has 
moved  up  twenty-three  points  in  nine  months  in  spite 
of  a  heavy  combination  against  it.  In  my  judgment  it's 
just  ready  for  a  sensational  leap.  I  don't  get  my  war 
news  from  the  front  pages  of  the  newspapers.  New 
York  Stock  reports  are  more  trustworthy  as  to  actual 
conditions  than  the  reports  of  the  war  correspondents 
at  the  front.  I  tell  you  the  money  market  is  a  spiritual 
barometer  for  any  nation.  It  lets  you  know  the  inside 
facts." 

Rhodin  was  watching  him  closely  through  narrowing 
lids.  "Then  I  suppose  your  advice  could  be  put  in  the 
words  of  the  Good  Book:  'Go,  sell  whatsoever  thou 
hast' — and  buy  Mex  Pete." 

The  banker  laughed :  "Well,  that's  putting  it  a  little 
strong,  but  I'll  say  this  much:  It's  a  good  time  for  a 
wide-awake  boy  to  look  through  all  the  old  teapots  in 
the  house  and  collect  every  odd  coin  that  he  can  find." 

"But  what  if  already  he  has  ransacked  the  house 
from  attic  to  cellar?" 

"Then,  Rhody,  maybe  his  absent-minded  old  uncle 
might  leave  fifty  cents  on  the  washstand,"  said  Ken- 
nedy, grimly;  "he  could  borrow  that."  The  merchant 
frowned  angrily  and  turned  toward  the  banker.  The 
fact  is,  Gilbert,  I  don't  like  this  business  of  speculating 
in  stock!" 

During  the  above  conversation  Richard  Locke  had 


252      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

become  aware  of  the  subdued  excitement  in  Rhodin's 
manner.  He  knew  the  strong  pull  that  had  been  draw- 
ing Rhodin  farther  and  farther  into  financial  specula- 
tion, and  he  resented  this  new  evidence  that  some  of  his 
own  church  leaders  were  making  it  harder  for  him  to 
resist.  He  did  not  dream  that  already  Rhodin  was 
caught  in  the  undertow,  but  he  knew  that  his  friend 
needed  help  from  the  church  and  not  hindrance. 

"Come  on,  men,"  he  said,  impatiently,  "let's  get  busy 
on  these  plans." 

Rhodin  Curtis  sat  late  that  night  in  the  hotel  lobby. 
He  did  not  care  to  go  home — not  yet.  "If  the  devil  is 
fishing  for  me,"  he  laughed  sardonically,  "the  saints 
surely  are  cutting  bait  for  him." 

Then  his  jaw  set  and  he  thought  it  through.  He 
was  no  child,  and  he  was  not  the  devil's  tool !  It  was  a 
straight  loan  that  he  had  in  mind,  nothing  else.  It 
was  irregular,  but  there  was  absolute  security  for  San- 
ford  Kennedy,  "his  absent-minded  old  uncle."  He 
smiled  at  this. 

As  to  the  method  of  it,  the  regular  routine  of  bank 
business  would  take  care  of  the  whole  matter.  The 
check,  indorsed  by  Rhodin,  would  be  returned  to  King 
and  Kennedy  in  regular  course.  That  it  had  been  used 
for  the  purchase  of  a  New  York  draft  was  the  cashier's 
official  business  and  not  even  open  to  remark.  Such 
drafts  were  purchased  by  the  bank's  clients  every  day. 
The  bank  cash  would  not  be  disturbed  because  the 
twenty  thousand  would  not  be  charged  against  it. 
The  credit  of  one  hundred  and  ninety  dollars,  due  Mr. 
Kennedy,  Rhodin  of  course  would  pay;  it  was  his  own 


THEY  THAT  WILL  BE  RICH  253 

legitimate  discount  on  the  loan.  The  extended  note, 
safe  in  the  vault,  would  not  be  disturbed  for  nearly 
sixty  days.  When  it  became  due  on  the  first  of  Novem- 
ber he  would  take  care  of  it. 

There  was  but  one  chance  of  failure — the  remote 
yet  human  possibility  of  his  own  serious  sickness,  or 
possible  death,  during  the  next  sixty  days.  As  a  matter 
of  business  precaution,  as  well  as  of  personal  honor, 
this  must  be  taken  into  the  account.  With  character- 
istic directness  he  sat  down  at  one  of  the  correspon- 
dence tables  and  wrote  as  follows: 

Hotel  Hamilton, 

September  3,  1918. 
DEAR  MB.  KENNEDY: 

With  reference  to  our  conversation  at  the  dinner  table  this 
evening  I  am  borrowing  your  twenty  thousand  for  the  balance  of 
the  sixty  day  period.  Your  personal  check  is  surely  opportune, 
though  my  use  of  it  as  a  personal  loan  is  rather  irregular.  How- 
ever, you  will  never  know  about  it — unless  my  unforeseen  death 
(which  God  forbid!)  should  put  this  letter  into  your  hands.  In 
that  case  I  have  protected  the  loan.  I  am  taking  out  a  short- 
period  insurance  policy  for  $20,000  indorsed  by  me  and  payable 
to  yourself.  I  will  obtain  the  policy  to-morrow  and  will  place  it 
with  this  letter  in  my  safety  deposit  box  at  the  bank. 

Yours  truly, 

RHODIN  CURTIS. 

The  next  morning  Rhodin  wired  his  New  York 
broker,  "Buy  as  per  your  proposition  August  29.  Re- 
mittance by  mail." 


CHAPTER  XVHI 
THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR 

THE  intimacy  between  Clara  Curtis  and  Elizabeth 
seemed  to  have  lessened  during  the  summer. 
Their  friendship  was  unbroken,  but  the  spontaneous 
flow  of  it  had  been  interrupted.  The  afternoon  at 
Elizabeth's  home,  when  John  Roberts  had  ridden 
roughshod  over  Clara's  self-complacency,  had  been 
humiliating  to  her  pride.  That  the  offense  was  utterly 
unconscious  had  not  lessened  but  rather  increased  the 
poignancy  of  it. 

But  more  disturbing  than  her  sense  of  personal  hu- 
miliation was  the  intellectual  awakening  that  had  come 
to  her.  She  resented  the  clear  shining  that  revealed 
the  tawdry  and  pagan  thing  which  she  had  called 
"Reality."  And  yet  her  inborn  honesty  would  not  let 
her  dissemble  the  truth — the  great-souled  missionary 
had  had  no  thought  of  attacking  her  chosen  faith ;  he 
had  been  telling  her  the  heart  of  Hinduism,  and  that  at 
her  own  request. 

It  was  not  John  Roberts  nor  Richard  Locke  nor 
Elizabeth  Janes  who  had  forced  the  truth  upon  her; 
she  had  herself  peered  into  the  pool  of  paganism  and 
had  seen  "Reality"  leering  at  her  from  the  murky 
depths  of  it.  Nevertheless,  with  the  unyielding 
obstinacy  of  human  pride  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
gentle  remonstrance  of  her  higher  and  nobler  self.  "If 

£54 


THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR    255 

'Reality'  is  the  heart  of  Hinduism,"  she  said,  "then 
so  much  the  better  for  Hinduism  and  so  much  the  worse 
for  the  missionaries." 

But  Clara  Curtis  could  not  coerce  her  own  mind, 
though  she  tried  with  set  determination.  She  read 
"Reality"  booklets  with  Mrs.  Kave  Rogers  and  became 
angry  at  herself  because  they  seemed  to  her  shallow 
and  unmeaning.  She  hated  John  Roberts  for  disturb- 
ing the  tranquil  dream  in  which  life  had  been  so  placid, 
so  serenely  indifferent  to  the  ugly  shadows  of  sickness, 
sin,  and  war.  In  midsummer  Rhodin  saw  that  her 
spirits  drooped  and  insisted  that  she  should  go  to  the 
seashore  with  Mrs.  Heustis  and  little  Arthur. 

"Only  sinners  like  me  are  entitled  to  be  out  of  sorts," 
he  said,  jestingly.  But  Clara  knew  that  he  meant  it, 
and  it  irritated  her  that  she  had  lost  her  poise  in  the 
presence  of  her  husband. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  first  week  in  September 
Richard  Locke  learned  of  Clara's  return,  and  he  did 
not  delay  to  call  at  Rhodin's  home  on  Park  Road. 
John  Roberts  was  announced  to  speak  at  Old  First  on 
the  following  Sunday,  and  he  laughingly  reminded  her 
how  they  jointly  had  persuaded  the  missionary  at  the 
beginning  of  the  summer. 

But  Clara  pleaded  the  weariness  of  her  long  journey 
and  responded  coldly  to  Locke's  invitation  to  be  at  the 
service.  Perhaps  his  refusal  to  urge  her  showed  wis- 
dom, for  Clara  felt  that  she  had  not  been  perfectly 
courteous.  Moreover,  she  had  a  desire,  which  she 
would  not  admit  to  herself,  to  hear  a  man  who  could 
uncover  the  hidden  springs  of  "Reality."  She  decided 


256      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

to  go.  On  Sunday  morning  as  Richard  Locke  glanced 
over  the  congregation  he  saw  her  sitting  beside  Eliza- 
beth in  Dr.  Janes's  pew.  Rhodin  was  with  her. 

"That  was  the  most  wonderful  hour  in  our  history," 
said  Sanford  Kennedy.  He  was  standing  with  Mrs. 
Heustis  in  the  tower  doorway  after  the  service. 

"And  the  saddest!"  she  answered,  while  the  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes. 

"But  do  you  think  Dr.  Locke  will  leave  us,  Mrs. 
Heustis?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  I  felt  that  God's  hand  was  upon 
him  during  Mr.  Roberts's  closing  appeal." 

"Well,  it's  plain  that  Locke  himself  doesn't  realize 
it.  He  told  me  Roberts  was  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
€ver  he  would  go  to  India — although  one  would  judge 
that  India  ought  to  have  a  peculiar  attraction  for 
him,"  and  Mr.  Kennedy  smiled  knowingly. 

"There  are  some  things,  Mr.  Kennedy,  which  seem  to 
be  foreordained,"  and  Mrs.  Heustis  laughed  softly  as 
she  beckoned  to  Rose  Copley  and  moved  toward  her 
limousine. 

"If  Locke  leaves  us  I'll  be  justified  in  canceling  my 
subscription  to  the  Centenary!"  fumed  Gilbert  as  he 
and  William  Addison  walked  down  Main  Street  to- 
gether. 

"Dr.  Locke  has  been  a  great  leader  for  Old  First, 
Mr.  Gilbert,  but  our  Centenary  is  bigger  than  any 
man — and  bigger  than  any  church." 

And  it  all  came  about  because  a  plain  man  from  the 
Punjab  stood  up  and  talked. 


THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR    257 

"You  mustn't  expect  me  to  'preach,'  my  friends,"  is 
the  way  John  Roberts  began  that  memorable  sermon. 
"Missionaries  do  not  'preach.'  They  are  at  work  down 
at  the  mudsills  of  human  thinking.  They  gather  a 
little  group  about  them  and  talk — that's  all,  just  talk. 
So  if  you  will  let  me  think  of  you  as  a  group  of  Punjabi 
Christians,  gathered  under  a  mm  tree  at  the  edge  of 
the  village,  and  will  let  me  talk  to  you  in  the  simple 
language  of  the  untaught  multitudes,  I  think  we  shall 
get  on. 

"Your  pastor  has  asked  me  to  speak  of  the  inner 
meanings  of  paganism.  It  is  a  fascinating  theme,  but 
I  do  not  want  you  to  think  of  paganism  as  the  curious 
belief  of  people  living  in  the  Orient.  I  want  you  to 
realize  that  the  cruel  and  flinty  heart  of  it  is  near  you, 
nearer  than  you  think.  Therefore  let  me  begin  by 
talking  about  something  that  lies  close  to  Old  First 
Centenary — this":  John  Roberts  held  up  a  piece  of 
money. 

A  fleeting  smile  passed  over  the  congregation. 
James  Gilbert  gave  close  attention.  Rhodin  frowned. 
As  for  Clara  she  was  quietly  amused — the  missionary 
had  given  fair  warning  of  the  inevitable  "collection" 
that  was  to  follow.  She  had  expected  him  to  speak  of 
the  mystic  Brahm  and  Maya,  and  here  he  was  making  a 
financial  plea  at  the  very  beginning  of  his  address. 
Why  were  missionaries  always  tiresome ! 

Richard  Locke  plainly  was  piqued.  It  had  not  been 
his  intention  to  ask  the  congregation  for  a  missionary 
offering  at  this  time.  It  would  have  been  better  had 
he  warned  Roberts  to  avoid  all  reference  to  money.  But 
what  was  it  that  Roberts  was  saying?  Locke  listened. 


258      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

The  missionary  was  walking  confidently  among  the 
foundations  of  the  Christian  faith,  foundations  that 
Locke  had  been  building  on  but  never  had  really  ex- 
amined. And  yet  they  were  so  obvious — so  broadly 
human — so  masterfully  divine! 

"What  is  money?"  John  Roberts  still  held  the  coin 
before  the  people  as  unconcernedly  as  though  he  were 
holding  up  a  copper  pice  among  a  group  of  upper 
Ganges  villagers.  A  smile  was  lurking  in  the  caverns 
of  his  eyes. 

"Perhaps  you  think  that  money  is  the  precise  thing 
the  missionary  intends  to  ask  for  at  the  close  of  his 
address.  Let  me  inform  you  at  once  that  he  intends 
to  do  no  such  thing.  Too  many  an  audience  has  been 
cajoled  into  giving  their  money  when  they  ought  to 
have  been  giving  their  thought.  And  that  is  all  I  shall 
ask  of  you, — your  thought.  But  I  should  warn  you 
in  advance  that  if  you  give  your  thought  to  the  mean- 
ing and  mystery  of  money,  you  will  be  taken  captive 
to  the  mind  of  God  himself.  Henceforward  you  will 
be  masters  neither  of  your  money  nor  yourselves." 

The  stooping  shoulders  suddenly  straightened  and 
Old  First  became  aware  that  an  ambassador  of  the 
Most  High  was  among  them. 

"It  is  curious,  this  fugitive  thing  that  we  call 
money,"  he  continued.  "Men  will  work  for  it,  wait 
for  it,  lie  for  it,  pray  for  it — and  yet  when  they  get  it 
they  do  not  want  it,  and  as  soon  as  possible  they  will 
get  rid  of  it.  They  will  exchange  it  for  something 
else,  something  presumably  that  they  do  want. 

"It  is  perfectly  obvious  that  men  will  seek  after 
money  because  money  is  a  convenent  medium  to  be  ex- 


THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR    259 

changed  for  food  and  shelter  and  clothing.  The 
millions  of  earth  have  no  other  use  for  it.  But  forward- 
looking  men  in  all  the  world  know  this — that  money 
is  the  measurement  of  property,  and  property,  whether 
great  or  small,  means  power.  What  I  hold  in  my  hand 
is  more  than  a  silver  coin ;  it  is  a  spiritual  press  button. 
Men  touch  the  miracle  that  we  call  money  and  cities 
rise,  commerce  moves,  families  are  formed.  Money 
means  the  releasing  of  power,  and" — here  John  Roberts 
leaned  across  the  pulpit  and  the  words  went  through 
the  congregation — "  'God  hath  spoken  once,  twice  have 
I  heard  this,  that  power  belong eth  unto  God.' ' 

As  the  preacher  repeated  the  words  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture it  was  as  though  a  Majestic  Presence  were  re- 
vealed. The  congregation  was  under  a  compulsion 
more  potent  than  human  speech. 

"When  the  Scriptures  speak  of  'power,'  and  when 
thoughtful  people  use  the  word,  it  never  is  confused 
with  inanimate  'force.'  Force  always  is  under  the  con- 
trol of  Power — it  must  be  so,  or  else  this  universe  is  a 
whirling  chaos.  Power  means  personality.  It  signi- 
fies authority,  right,  dominion.  'All  power  is  given 
unto  me,'  said  Jesus.  What  he  meant  was  that  all 
authority,  all  rightful  dominion  is  now  vested  in  him. 
And  this  is  why  a  Christian  recognizes  that  property, 
that  prolific  source  of  human  power,  must  be  under  the 
dominion  of  God  himself." 

And  then  the  preacher  reminded  them  of  the  historic 
unfolding  of  our  common  law  regarding  property — 
facts  which  they  knew  but  had  forgotten,  or,  worse, 
had  neglected  to  weave  into  the  daily  fabric  of  life. 
Why  did  Christian  men  continually  speak  of  property 


260      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

as  their  own?  The  law  gave  them  the  right  to  do  so. 
Certainly — but  whence  had  the  law  come? 

"  'The  fall  of  the  Roman  empire !' — there  never  was 
such  an  event!"  exclaimed  the  preacher.  "Rome  lives 
to-day  in  that  massive  system  of  law  and  equity  that 
has  been  embodied  in  our  jurisprudence,  our  statutes, 
and  our  courts  of  justice." 

And  whence  had  it  all  come,  this  stupendous  instru- 
ment called  the  law,  which  gives  a  man  the  right  to 
speak  of  property  as  his  own?  Had  it  not  come  from 
the  pagan  philosophy  of  the  Roman  lawyer?  Had  it 
not  been  builded  upon  that  foundation  of  all  Roman 
thinking — the  law  of  Nature? 

John  Roberts  leaned  toward  the  congregation  as 
ofttimes  he  had  bended  over  a  group  of  Punjabi  vil- 
lagers— it  was  the  same  yearning  human  love. 

"Do  you  not  understand,  my  friends,  why  I  said  that 
the  heart  of  paganism  is  nearer  you,  nearer  all  of  us, 
than  we  are  accustomed  to  consider  ?  Whenever  a  man 
says  or  thinks — this  house,  this  farm,  this  property  is 
mine,  he  shuts  away  the  personal  and  living  God  and 
makes  property  a  human  institution.  He  vaunts  him- 
self as  paganism  hath  ever  done,  and  says,  'Power  be- 
longeth  unto  man.' 

"There  is  but  one  nation,  among  all  the  nations  of 
earth,  that  has  recognized  the  personal  dominion  of 
God  in  its  laws  and  statutes  relating  to  property. 
Here  is  the  exalted  meaning  of  the  tithe  in  Israel. 
Every  ancient  nation  was  accustomed  to  tithe-paying, 
but  in  Israel  the  glory  of  it  was  this:  the  tithe  could 
not  be  dedicated  by  a  vow.  Why?  It  was  dedicated 
already.  It  was  the  acknowledgment  of  Jehovah's 


THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR    261 

personal  dominion  over  property.  'The  tenth  shall 
be  holy  unto  the  Lord.' ' 

For  the  first  and  only  time  the  preacher  blazed. 

"Do  I  mean,  therefore,  that  God  is  a  Person,  with 
all  the  limitations  that  we  associate  with  human  per- 
sonality? No,  not  that,  but  this:  that  we  ourselves 
are  clothed  upon  with  personality  so  majestic,  so 
divine,  that  we  shall  not  know  the  depth  of  it  nor  the 
reach  of  it  until  we  find  the  mystery  of  it  in  God  him- 
self." 

The  preacher  paused.  The  glow  disappeared  from 
his  face.  The  stoop  returned  to  his  shoulders  and  the 
burden  of  half  the  world  seemed  pressing  down  upon 
him. 

"My  friends,  I  know  not  why  I  have  been  moved  to 
bring  this  message  to  you  to-day — unless  it  is  that  the 
whole  Church  of  Christ  is  beginning  to  seek  after  the 
old  paths.  The  Centenary  program  of  Old  First 
makes  me  know  that  already  the  secret  of  the  Lord  is 
with  you  and  pagan  conceptions  of  ownership  are 
loosed  from  you,  if  not  entirely  destroyed.  But  my 
soul  to-day  lies  under  the  shadow  of  another  hemi- 
sphere, where  property  is  a  pagan  conception,  not  only, 
but  where  paganism  itself  is  a  cruel  and  present  fact. 
Divine  personality  is  wholly  obscured  and  human  per- 
sonality has  become  a  dwarfed  and  misshapen  thing. 

"They  need  you,  my  friends,  with  a  desperate  and 
pathetic  need.  A  thousand  strong  arms  will  lift  the 
shadowed  lives  of  this  city,  but  is  there  no  hand  to 
reach  out  to  blind  and  groping  spirits  where  the  light 
itself  is  as  darkness?  Money  is  not  my  quest  to-day. 
Money  means  the  release  of  power,  but  it  is  not  the 


262      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

power.  Property  is  the  token  of  personality,  but  it  is 
not  personality.  I  plead  to-day  for  the  choicest  gift 
that  Old  First  can  offer,  the  gift  of  life  itself. 

"Is  there  a  voice  among  you  that  reaches  far  and 
speaks  with  authority? — is  there  a  mind  here  that  can 
think  true  and  think  through? — is  there  a  heart  that 
throbs  in  sympathy  with  the  heart-beat  of  humanity? 
— that  is  the  gift  I  am  seeking  to-day. 

"For  him  who  was  rich  yet  for  our  sakes  became 
poor — for  Him  I  ask  your  choicest  and  your  best." 

As  John  Roberts  leaned  over  the  pulpit  in  one  pas- 
sionate appeal,  Locke  turned  his  fascinated  gaze 
toward  the  congregation  and  found  himself  looking 
into  the  startled  eyes  of  Elizabeth  Janes.  He  went 
through  the  concluding  hymn  and  benediction  as  a  man 
walking  in  a  dream. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  he  stood  in  his  study  beside 
the  tall  stooping  form  of  the  missionary.  He  was 
tense  with  stillness.  There  was  no  need  for  question 
nor  explanation.  Both  men  understood.  Without 
waiting  a  moment  Roberts  strode  to  the  side  of  the 
room  where  a  wall  map  of  the  world  hung  between  the 
windows. 

"Richard  Locke,"  he  said,  "cast  your  eye  across  this 
map  and  tell  me  where  the  full  investment  of  a  life  will 
yield  largest  returns  for  humanity — here?" — he  spread 
his  left  hand  across  America — "or  here?"  and  with  a 
slow  motion  of  his  right  he  swept  across  the  Near 
East,  then  India,  then  Eastern  Asia. 

"Surely,  it  is  an  axiom  of  missions  that  the  home- 
land must  be  made  Christian  if  ever  we  are  to  Christian- 


THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR    263 

ize  the  world."  Locke  spoke  with  sharpness  as  though 
he  were  making  a  defense. 

"The  homeland  is  Christian,  sir!  I  speak  in  large 
human  terms  and  not  in  terms  of  ecclesiastical  parties 
nor  church  shibboleths.  This  war  has  proved  that  the 
great  heart  of  America  beats  true.  God,  prayer,  im- 
mortality, honor,  pity,  liberality — Christ's  gospel  of 
human  brotherhood  is  in  the  heart  of  the  American 
people.  I  am  using  words  with  perfect  appropriate- 
ness when  I  speak  of  'American  Christianity.'  It  is 
not  a  full  expression  of  Christianity,  certainly  not  a 
final  one,  but  it  is  the  most  commanding  expression 
that  the  centuries  have  seen.  Is  this  not  true,  sir?" 

"In  the  large  I  must  agree  with  you." 

"Certainly,  'in  the  large,'  for  there  is  no  other  way 
to  judge  of  social  emancipation,  nor  world  movement. 
But  how  shall  this  modern  expression  of  Christianity 
reach  the  depressed  multitudes  of  earth  unless  strong 
leaders  of  the  church  go  to  them,  as  Paul  went  to 
Ephesus,  and  Corinth,  and  Rome?  Weaklings  cannot 
carry  Christ's  message." 

Locke  did  not  answer  him,  but  stood  with  his  eyes 
moodily  fixed  upon  the  map.  Slowly  the  missionary 
turned  his  head  and  looked  at  him. 

"For  the  next  fifty  years,  the  most  fruitful  field  for 
Christianity  in  all  the  world  will  be  right  here" — John 
Roberts  laid  his  hand  upon  the  united  Provinces  of 
India  and  the  Punjab — "and  here  is  the  city  where  I 
would  place  you,  Dr.  Locke,  to  carry  out  in  magnifi- 
cent completeness  the  identical  program  which  you 
have  inaugurated  at  Old  First" — and  he  placed  his 
index  finger  upon  the  city  of  Lahore. 


264      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Have  you  not  noted  how  northwest  India  has  been 
the  open  gateway  to  the  East,  the  lure  of  all  the  con- 
querors of  old — Darius,  Alexander,  Saladin?  And  do 
you  not  recognize  what  has  transpired  within  the  last 
few  months?  The  war  means  a  reconstructed  Europe, 
but  to  the  missionary  nothing  is  so  vital  as  this — that 
Anglo-Saxon  supremacy  is  insured  from  the  Bosporus 
to  Baluchistan,  and  throughout  the  regions  of  Meso- 
potamia. For  the  first  time  in  all  the  centuries  there 
will  be  religious  freedom  from  the  headwaters  of  the 
Ganges  and  the  Five  Rivers  to  the  Mediterranean  Sea. 

"If  you  will  recall  that,  while  military  conquest  in 
the  past  has  pressed  from  the  Mediterranean  eastward 
and  southward  toward  the  Punjab,  yet  the  movement 
of  religion  and  philosophy  always  has  been  westward 
and  northward  from  the  Punjab  toward  the  Mediter- 
ranean, then  you  will  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  India 
mass  movement  toward  Christianity.  The  Christianiz- 
ing of  races  and  communities  must  be  a  spiritual  un- 
folding from  within.  Long  years  before  proud  Brah- 
manism  shall  bend  its  neck  Indian  Christianity  will 
conquer  Islam.  Remember  that  one  third  of  the 
Mohammedan  population  of  the  world  is  in  India.  Re- 
member that  in  all  the  world  the  only  vital  contact 
between  Mohammedan  communities  and  spiritually 
transformed  Christian  communities  is  in  the  villages 
and  cities  of  India,  where  Christian  churches  are 
multiplying  with  amazing  swiftness.  Remember,  finally, 
that  the  fall  of  Turkey  and  the  suzerainty  of  Great 
Britain  in  Southwestern  Asia  mean  the  removal  of  iron 
despotism  and  the  restoration  of  free  human  movement. 
As  in  all  past  centuries,  so  once  again,  Persia  and 


THE  COMING  OF  AN  AMBASSADOR     265 

Mesopotamia  will  yield  to  the  pervasive  mysticism  of 
India. 

"A  powerful  Christian  movement  in  the  plains  of  the 
Punjab  will  thrill  the  heart  of  India  herself,  and  then 
push  westward  along  the  motor  nerves  of  trade  and 
pilgrimage.  The  Christian  gentleness  of  India  will 
break  in  pieces  the  hard  crust  of  the  Mohammedan 
world.  Already  the  Punjab  pulses  with  Christian 
testimony.  Already  Lahore  is  the  meeting  place  of 
Christianity  and  Islam.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  enter 
upon  an  unsafe  experiment.  I  summon  you  to  invest 
your  brain  and  heart  where  high  leadership  already 
has  prepared  the  way.  Ten  thousand  strong  men  will 
care  for  the  American  churches.  I  ask  you  to  join 
hands  with  the  few  who  are  pouring  out  their  life 
for  the  redemption  of  one  half  the  human  race  in  Asia." 

Roberts  suddenly  ceased. 

"Do  not  think  I  come  to  you  on  my  sole  responsi- 
bility. I  bear  to  you  this  greeting  from  the  Board  of 
Foreign  Missions,"  and  he  handed  him  a  letter.  It 
was  a  formal  call  dated  within  a  week,  asking  him  to 
accept  appointment  as  an  India  missionary  in  the  Pun- 
jab, and  making  John  Roberts  the  bearer  of  the 
message. 

Locke  was  deeply  stirred.  "Have  you  spoken  of 
this  to  others?"  he  asked,  bluntly. 

"I  have,  to  the  secretary  of  the  Board  and  to  the 
India  Committee,"  replied  Roberts. 

"Certainly,  but  have  you  mentioned  the  matter  here 
so  that  the — so  that  anyone  would  be  aware  of  the  invi- 
tation of  the  Board?" 

"I  have  written  to  Miss  Janes  as  one  keenly  inter- 


266      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

ested  in  all  that  touches  our  beloved  India."  Roberts 
turned  from  him  and  began  studying  the  titles  of  the 
volumes  in  the  case  next  the  window. 

A  slow  red  covered  Locke's  face.  He  recalled  his 
first  vivid  impression  that  afternoon  in  May  when 
Elizabeth  had  introduced  them.  "Our  beloved  India" 
— he  could  not  doubt  it  now !  And  he  was  glad  for  it, 
down  under  his  suffocating  sense  of  loss,  honestly,  hon- 
orably glad  for  it.  But  this  call  to  India — it  almost 
seemed  a  united  invitation  from  Elizabeth — and  an- 
other !  Dare  he  plunge  into  such  waters  of  bitterness  ? 
And  yet,  dare  he  turn  from  high  counsel  for  any  pain 
or  suffering  that  he  should  bear?  Which  way  did 
duty  lie?  He  took  two  quick  steps  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  confidence,  Roberts,  but  I 
dare  not  answer  you  to-day." 

"The  Board  will  wait  your  reply  until  November. 
I  think  I  know  what  your  answer  will  be,  and  from 
my  heart  I  am  grateful  for  the  joy  that  will  be  yours." 

The  look  in  Roberts's  eyes  was  inexpressibly  sweet 
and  tender.  Locke  could  not  fathom  it.  Not  until 
years  afterward  did  he  understand  it. 

Rhodin  Curtis  and  Clara  hardly  exchanged  a  word 
until  they  drew  up  at  their  own  home  in  Park  Road. 
Then,  as  the  purr  of  the  motor  ceased,  Rhodin  turned 
toward  her. 

"Well,  Clara,  I'm  about  ready  for  your  'Reality,'  if 
you'll  introduce  me.  There's  nothing  for  me  at  Old 
First!" 

But  Clara  looked  straight  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
TIDINGS  FROM  SAINT  MIHIEL 

IN  straightening  the  Rheims-Soissons  salient,  during 
the  late  summer,  French  and  American  divisions 
were  in  constant  cooperation.  But  in  the  advance 
east  and  south  of  Verdun,  Marshal  Foch  deemed  it 
wise  strategy  to  give  General  Pershing  a  free  hand. 
The  smashing  drive  of  the  middle  of  September  was  an 
all- American  operation.  Not  only  was  the  Saint  Mihiel 
salient  obliterated,  but  the  line  was  pushed  backward 
until  the  demoralized  Germans  were  compelled  to  find 
safety  within  the  fortified  area  of  Metz  itself.  American 
shells  already  were  bursting  inside  the  German  Father- 
land. 

And  then  their  friends  at  home  learned  that  the 
seventh  division  was  in  action.  Frank  Janes,  Craig 
McRae,  the  "Shiners" — all  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
fighting.  Shrapnel  and  machine  guns  were  sure  to 
search  out  some  of  them.  The  casualty  lists  in  the 
newspapers  became  a  nightmare. 

On  the  20th  of  September  the  telegram  came. 
Elizabeth  received  the  yellow  envelope  at  the  door  and 
took  it  to  her  father  unopened.  The  straight  standing 
doctor  had  been  the  strength  of  hundreds  in  their  hours 
of  trial,  but  now  his  own  hour  was  come.  His  hand 
trembled  as  he  broke  the  seal.  They  read  the  message 
together : 

"/  regret  to  inform  you  that  your  son,  Captain 

267 


268      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Frank  Janes,  was  wounded  in  action  during  the  fight- 
ing at  St.  Mihiel  16th  instant."  It  was  signed  by  the 
adjutant  of  the  regiment. 

"Thank  God,  father!"  said  Elizabeth,  gratefully. 

Dr.  Janes  looked  at  her.  "I  know  what  you  mean, 
my  daughter,  and  I  pray  it  may  be  so.  But  the  ad- 
jutant should  have  said  more  or  he  should  have  said 
much  less.  'Wounded'  may  mean  anything  from  a  mere 
scratch  to  a  serious  or  even  fatal  injury.  Surely, 
there  is  some  one  in  his  regiment  to  whom  we  can  cable 
— some  one  who  will  send  us  personal  rather  than 
official  information." 

"I  am  sure  Chaplain  McRae  would  tell  us  everything 
if  we  could  get  a  message  to  him." 

"The  very  man ! — and  Richard  Locke  will  know  ex- 
actly how  to  reach  him.  Can  you  see  him,  Elizabeth? 
I  am  just  hurrying  to  the  Berrymans'.  Little  Louise 
is  worse.  Dr.  Locke  always  is  in  his  study  during  the 
morning.  Spare  no  expense." 

"I  will  go  at  once,  father,"  and  Elizabeth  ran  up  to 
her  room  with  a  strange  mingling  of  anxiety  and  glad- 
ness. 

At  that  moment  Richard  Locke  was  hanging  up  the 
receiver  of  his  telephone — an  urgent  meeting  of  the 
executive  committee  of  the  Commercial  Club  was  called 
immediately.  It  was  a  matter  that  concerned  the  pub- 
lic and  he  was  desired  to  come  at  once. 

"I  hope  to  be  back  within  an  hour,"  he  told  Miss 
Copley  as  he  passed  through  the  church  office. 

When  he  entered  the  secretary's  room  the  other 
members  of  the  committee  already  had  gathered. 


TIDINGS  FROM  SAINT  MIHIEL         269 

James  Gilbert  was  in  the  chair.  Rhodin  Curtis  sat 
near  him.  Four  other  men,  representatives  of  large 
interests  in  the  city,  were  grouped  around  the  table. 
Sanford  Kennedy  was  one  of  them.  For  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  the  club  a  minister  was  on  the  executive 
committee.  Rhodin  Curtis's  characterization  of 
Richard  Locke,  more  than  three  years  before,  had  been 
proved  out :  he  was  "a  man's  man." 

"What's  it  all  about?"  he  asked  Rhodin  in  a  low 
voice  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"Lasher." 

Rhodin's  enigmatical  reply  was  illuminated  by  the 
rapid-fire  questions :  Lasher,  treasurer  of  the  club,  had 
absconded  with  a  part  of  the  club  building  fund. 

"It's  fortunate  we  had  the  bulk  of  it  tied  up  in 
municipal  bonds,"  said  Milman,  representative  of  a 
wholesale  hardware  house. 

"But  thirty-two  thousand  is  quite  a  consolation 
prize,  gentlemen,"  answered  Gilbert,  "and  Joe  Lasher 
won't  bother  about  the  rest  of  it." 

"I'm  not  sure  but  we  can  untangle  this  snarl  if  we 
go  about  it  with  patience  and  a  little  consideration," 
began  Sanford  Kennedy.  "Of  course  we  want  the 
money  back  again,  but  there's  no  need  to  crush  Lasher. 
Let's  find  out  where  he  is  and  get  into  communication 
with  him." 

"Find  out  where  he  is  and  jail  him!"  interrupted 
Gilbert,  angrily.  "I'll  have  patience  with  ignorance 
or  inefficiency,  but  when  it  comes  to  betraying  a  trust 
I  have  just  one  word — a  term  in  the  penitentiary!" 

"But  we  can  wait  at  least  to  get  Lasher's  account  of 
it,  Mr.  Gilbert." 


270      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  Lasher  must  be  publicly  ex- 
posed and  discredited.  I  would  prosecute  him  if  he 
were  my  own  son !  I  regard  this  club  as  I  regard  the 
City  National  Bank — it  is  a  public  institution.  There 
must  be  no  palliation  and  no  concealment.  The  return 
of  club  funds  cannot  undo  the  fact  that  Lasher  has 
used  trust  money.  If  such  a  thing  should  happen  at 
our  bank,  I  would  expose  it  instantly,  no  matter  whom 
it  might  involve,  and  no  matter  if  the  bank  were  reim- 
bursed twice  over.  I  will  forgive  a  common  thief,  but 
the  betrayer  of  a  trust  shall  have  no  mercy — none !" 

Then  Richard  Locke  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "In 
any  case  we  should  learn  how  Lasher  came  to  do  it. 
We  cannot  judge  the  act  until  we  learn  the  history  of 
it." 

"It  would  be  a  pure  waste  of  time,  Dr.  Locke,"  in- 
terrupted Curtis,  sententiously.  "The  fact  should  be 
telephoned  to  the  press  immediately,  and  a  committee 
should  wait  on  Mrs.  Lasher  before  lunch  and  inform 
her  that  her  husband  is  a  rascal."  Rhodin's  eyes  were 
burning  and  a  hot  flush  was  in  his  face. 

"I  fail  to  catch  the  drift  of  Mr.  Curtis's  remarks," 
said  Gilbert,  coldly.  "We  are  not  here  to  pillory  Mr. 
Lasher,  but  we  certainly  are  not  here  to  whitewash  him. 
Perhaps  the  secretary's  record  may  help  us  a  little." 

Meantime  Rose  Copley  busied  herself  with  her  morn- 
ing's work.  The  strain  of  the  summer  had  almost 
reached  the  breaking  point.  The  past  week  had  been 
full  of  terror.  The  piquant  Rose  of  three  months  ago 
was  but  a  memory.  She  looked  over  her  list  of  sick 
calls  for  the  afternoon,  wrote  several  notes  on  parish 


TIDINGS  FROM  SAINT  MIHIEL         271 

business,  and  telephoned  to  the  Board  of  Health  con- 
cerning a  contagious  case.  Finally  she  sat  down  at 
her  desk  and  buried  her  head  in  her  arms. 

"It's  no  use!"  she  cried  softly  to  herself. 

As  the  door  opened  she  sat  up  stiffly  and  tried  to  call 
up  a  smile,  but  scarcely  could  she  see  her  visitor 
through  the  blur  of  tears. 

"It's  only  I,"  said  Elizabeth,  eagerly.  "May  I  come 
in?" 

"Do  come  in !"  and  Rose  stepped  to  the  front  of  the 
desk.  "I — I — am  very  glad  to  see  you.  Please  don't 
mind  my — my — maudlin  condition.  I'm  really  all 
right."  Rose  laughed  nervously. 

"Forgive  my  bursting  in  upon  you  in  this  way.  I'm 
wanting  very  much  to  ask  help  of  Dr.  Locke.  Is  he  in?" 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Miss  Janes.  He  went  out  about  an 
hour  ago — but  he  ought  to  be  back  very  soon.  Can  I 
be  of  any  use?" 

"It's  to  help  get  a  cable  through.  We've  had  bad  news 
from  France — about  my  brother,  and  I  thought — " 

Elizabeth  was  not  prepared  for  what  happened  just 
then.  Rose's  hand  reached  out  blindly  and  Rose  her- 
self leaned  weakly  against  the  desk  behind  her.  She 
was  deathly  white. 

"O,  you  are  ill!"  cried  Elizabeth.  "I  should  not 
have  come  to  you  with  my  troubles.  Let  me  do  some- 
thing for  you!" 

But  Rose  Copley  did  not  heed  the  gentle  words. 
With  a  look  that  dreaded  yet  demanded  to  hear  she 
clutched  Elizabeth  by  the  hand. 

"Tell  me,  Elizabeth,"  she  cried,  breathless  with  fear, 
"tell  me  all!  Is  he  badly  hurt?  O,  tell  me  he  isn't — 


THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

he  isn't — "  and  Rose  covered  her  face  with  both  hands 
and  stood  trembling. 

"No — 'wounded';  that  is  all  we  know.  See,  here  is 
the  telegram."  Elizabeth  unfolded  the  yellow  sheet 
and  held  it  while  Rose  drank  in  every  word  of  it.  As 
she  finished  reading  she  looked  up  into  Elizabeth's  eyes 
and  a  smile  of  gratitude  trembled  on  her  lips.  With- 
out a  word  she  laid  her  head  on  Elizabeth's  shoulder 
and  burst  into  a  torrent  of  weeping. 

With  a  great  dawning  light  in  her  own  eyes  Eliza- 
beth put  both  arms  about  her  and  held  her  close.  "You 
care  for  him,  Rose,  don't  you,  dear?  I'm  so,  so  glad !" 
and  she  smoothed  her  soft  hair.  Then  with  a  happy 
rush  of  tears,  she  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  and  lips 
and  repeated  it  again  and  again — "O,  Rose,  I'm  so 
glad!" 

And  she  did  not  even  ask  herself  why  her  heart  was 
glad.  She  did  not  want  to  think — not  yet.  Rose  was 
speaking  again. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me,  Elizabeth?  He  never 
told  me  that — that  he — he  went  away  without  saying 
a  word."  Rose  hid  her  burning  face  once  more  on 
Elizabeth's  shoulder. 

"But  he  did  love  you,  dear,  and  he  does  love  you! 
It  broke  his  heart  when  he  went  away  without  telling 
you.  He  understood  that  you  were — that  he  could  not 
— "  Elizabeth  stopped  short  and  the  crimson  mounted 
into  her  own  face  as  Richard  Locke  hastily  threw  open 
the  door.  Rose  broke  away  with  a  little  cry  and  sat 
down  at  her  desk.  Elizabeth  stood  irresolute.  The 
open  telegram  was  still  in  her  hand. 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  Miss  Janes,  and  yours,  Miss 


273 

Copley,  for  rushing  in  so  unceremoniously,"  said  Locke. 
"I  could  have  reached  my  study  through  the  vestry 
door."  Then  noticing  the  open  telegram  in  Eliza- 
beth's hand,  "Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you,  Miss 
Janes?" 

Something  in  Elizabeth's  face  brought  a  note  of 
gentleness  into  his  voice.  She  handed  him  the  tele- 
gram and  sat  down  with  a  sudden  sense  of  weakness. 
But  she  watched  him  while  he  read  it. 

"This  may  not  be  at  all  serious,"  he  said,  "though 
Adjutant  Mallard  should  have  been  more  explicit  in  his 
cable." 

"That  is  what  father  thought,  Dr.  Locke.  He  said 
'wounded'  might  mean  anything  from  a  slight  hurt  to  a 
fatal  injury.  We  thought — O,  forgive  me,  dear! — O, 
what  shall  we  do !"  Rose  had  fallen  back  in  her  chair 
in  a  dead  faint. 

Locke  sprang  to  her  side  and  carried  her  like  a  child 
to  the  couch  in  his  study.  In  a  moment  Elizabeth  was 
kneeling  beside  her,  rubbing  her  hands  and  bathing  her 
throat  and  temples.  When  Rose  opened  her  eyes  and 
tried  to  get  up  she  gently  pressed  her  back  upon  the 
couch. 

"If  you'll  'phone  for  father's  limousine,  Dr.  Locke, 
I'll  take  her  right  home  with  me.  She  needs  looking 
after,  poor  child." 

Together  they  helped  her  into  the  car,  though  Rose 
said  she  was  quite  herself  again.  The  fresh  air  seemed 
to  restore  her,  for  she  was  able  to  reach  Elizabeth's 
room  with  no  other  assistance  than  the  stair  rail. 

"Please  stay  to  lunch,  Dr.  Locke,"  said  Elizabeth  as 
she  removed  her  hat.  "I  want — father  wants  to  ask 


274     THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

your  help  in  getting  a  cable  through  to  Frank.  That's 
why  I  came  to  you — came  to  the  church — this  morning. 
I  will  be  downstairs  as  soon  as  I  have  made  Rose 
comfortable." 

He  watched  Elizabeth  as  she  ran  lightly  up  the 
stairs,  and  when  she  smiled  back  at  him  from  the  first 
landing  he  stepped  into. the  drawing  room.  He  knew 
that  he  must  pull  himself  together.  Before  he  recog- 
nized it  he  had  passed  on  into  the  conservatory  and 
was  standing  beside  the  laburnum  where  he  had  stood 
with  her  the  night  of  the  reception.  And  then  he 
knew  that  "pulling  himself  together"  was  beyond  his 
human  strength.  When  Elizabeth  came  down  a  few 
moments  later  she  found  him  in  the  library,  glancing 
through  one  of  the  current  magazines. 

"Is  Miss  Copley  better?"  he  asked. 

"She  says  she's  ready  to  'run  through  a  troop  and 
leap  over  a  wall,' "  answered  Elizabeth,  laughing.  "I 
really  think  she'll  be  all  right  again  by  morning.  She 
will  stay  with  me  to-day." 

But  Elizabeth  did  not  tell  of  taking  a  letter  from 
her  handkerchief  box  that  made  Rose  cry  with  glad- 
ness. "It's  for  you,  dear,"  she  said,  "on  one  condition 
— that  you  write  and  tell  Frank  that  I  have  given  it  to 
you." 

"O,  Elizabeth — how  dare  I?  Fr — Frank  would  not 
understand."  But  her  radiant  face  told  a  different 
story,  and  then  she  added — "I — I  will,  Elizabeth,  as 
soon  as  you  have  received  an  answer  to  your  cable. 
Please  have  Dr.  Locke  send  it  right  away !"  And  Rose 
thrust  the  letter  under  her  pillow  and  closed  her  happy 
eyes. 


TIDINGS  FROM  SAINT  MIHIEL         275 

But  she  opened  them  as  Elizabeth  was  drawing  the 
shades. 

"I'm  so  frightened,  Elizabeth.  Do  you  think  he — 
he  is  badly  hurt?" 

"We'll  know  soon,  dear.  Dr.  Locke  will  cable  im- 
mediately. Let  me  raise  this  shade  and  you  can  read 
Frank's  letter  again."  Elizabeth  patted  her  face  and 
then  ran  downstairs  and  found  Locke  in  the  library. 

"I'm  glad  she's  resting,"  he  said  with  uncomfortable 
constraint.  "Miss  Copley  has  been  overworking  dur- 
ing the  summer,  I  fear." 

"But  she'll  be  all  right  now ;  I'm  sure  of  it."  Eliza- 
beth's confidence  was  disconcerting.  It  was  safer  for 
him  to  attend  strictly  to  parish  duties. 

"You  spoke  of  a  cable  message  to  your  brother,  Miss 
Janes,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  Dr.  Locke,  if  you  could  help  us."  And  then 
Elizabeth  told  of  their  hope  that  a  cable  to  Chaplain 
McRae  might  bring  some  definite  word  to  allay  their 
anxiety. 

"By  all  means,"  he  answered,  heartily.  "I'll  attend 
to  it  at  once.  I'll  see  the  superintendent  and  get  a 
special  order." 

Locke  hastened  into  the  hall  and  Elizabeth  followed 
him. 

"You'll  come  back  for  lunch,  D*r.  Locke.  Father 
will  want  to  hear — and  I  will."  The  soft  light  in  Eliza- 
beth's eyes  was  a  despair  to  him.  He  tried  to  answer 
her  with  quiet  courtesy,  but  he  was  holding  himself 
with  an  iron  hand  and  his  voice  took  on  a  tone  of 
formality  which  was  wholly  foreign  to  him. 

"I  thank  you,  Miss  Janes,  but  it  will  not  be  possible 


276      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

for  me  to  come  to-day.  I  will  telephone  you  from  the 
office."  He  did  not  see  the  hurt  he  had  given,  for  he 
did  not  dare  to  look  at  her. 

Two  anxious  days  passed  before  McRae's  answer 
was  received.  The  cable  was  addressed  to  Locke  at 
the  church,  and  Rose  Copley  brought  it  to  him  in  his 
study.  She  stood  beside  his  desk  as  he  opened  it.  It 
was  dated  the  day  before  and  was  as  follows : 

"Hospital  Paris.  Will  recover.    Letter  sixteenth." 

McRAE. 

"Good!  It's  all  right!"  and  Locke  smiled  as  he 
turned  and  looked  at  her.  But  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
for  the  pallor  was  in  her  face  again.  In  a  moment  he 
had  placed  her  in  a  chair  and  handed  her  the  telegram. 
He  was  beginning  to  understand. 

Rose  read  the  message  with  wide-staring  eyes. 
Slowly  the  pallor  passed  away.  She  covered  her  face 
and  sat  perfectly  still. 

"We  shall  know  all  about  it  soon,  Miss  Copley. 
Craig  wrote  fully  on  the  sixteenth  and  this  is  the 
twenty-second.  We  should  have  his  letter  within  a 
week."  Locke's  voice  was  very  gentle,  like  a  brother 
soothing  and  comforting  his  younger  sister.  Rose  felt 
the  strength  of  his  sympathy  and  looked  up  gratefully. 
She  always  had  trusted  him. 

"O,  thank  you,  Dr.  Locke.  But  he's  in  the  hos — 
hospital !  All  Craig  says  is  that  he  won't — die ! 
Something  awful  has  happened — I'm  sure  of  it." 

"No,  we  won't  imagine  any  horrors !"  he  said. 
"Let's  wait  for  Craig's  letter.  But  I  must  get  this 
message  to  Dr.  Janes  without  delay.  Would  you  like 


277 

to  deliver  it?"  Locke  smiled  at  her.  A  great  burden 
had  been  lifted  from  him.  He  was  grateful  that  he 
had  not  embarrassed  her  nor  himself  by  an  ill-advised 
proposal. 

"O,  do  let  me  take  it  to  Elizabeth !"  answered  Rose, 
hastening  into  the  office  for  her  hat  and  gloves.  In  a 
moment  she  was  back  again  and  stood  in  front  of 
Locke's  desk  with  heightened  color. 

"I  want  to  thank  you,  Dr.  Locke,  for  trying  to  make 
it  easy  for  me,  and  for — for  understanding  me." 

"I'm  glad  for  you,  Miss  Copley,  and  I  shall  write 
and  tell  Captain  Janes  how  sincerely  glad  I  am  for 
him,"  and  he  stood  beside  her. 

At  his  words  Rose  turned  a  fiery  red.  "No,  no,  Dr. 
Locke — what  must  you  think  of  me !  He — he  never — " 
and  poor  Rose  stopped  in  utter  confusion. 

But  Locke  was  exultant.  He  laughed  merrily  and 
held  out  his  hand.  "All  right  then,  I  won't — until  you 
tell  me  to!" 

Locke  had  not  counted  on  the  congested  condition 
of  the  oversea  mails.  The  week  stretched  into  ten  days 
and  McRae's  letter  had  not  arrived.  Meantime  full 
reports  were  published  of  the  action  in  the  Saint  Mihiel 
salient.  The  casualty  lists  in  the  Gazette  showed  at 
what  cost  the  victory  had  been  won.  In  addition  to 
the  name  of  Captain  Janes,  two  of  the  "Shiners"  were 
reported  among  the  wounded.  Then  came  this  which 
brought  a  knife-thrust  to  the  minister  of  Old  First: 
"Killed  in  action — Antonio  Carrari." 

On  the  twelfth  day  the  letter  came.  Locke  was  glad 
that  Rose  Copley  was  not  at  the  church  when  it  was 
delivered.  He  read  it  eagerly. 


878      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

7th  Division,  A.  E.  F. 

September  16,  1918. 
DEAR  DICKENS: 

I  would  have  written  you  three  days  ago,  but  I  got  a  sliver 
of  shrapnel  in  my  left  shoulder  from  standing  too  close  to  a 
German  shell  hole  on  the  first  day  of  the  action  at  Saint  Mihiel. 
The  Colonel  gave  me  a  tremendous  wigging!  Said  a  chaplain 
had  no  business,  etc.,  etc.  But  did  he  think  I  could  stay  behind 
and  pray  while  the  boys  were  in  the  thick  of  it! 

It  was  great,  Dickens — great!  The  Germans  can't  stand  up  in 
front  of  real  men.  I  captured  two  of  them  myself,  and  all  the 
weapons  I  had  were  my  canteen  and  a  fountain  pen!  Long 
before  this  reaches  you,  you  will  know  that  we  cleaned  out  the 
whole  salient,  and  pushed  the  line  from  Saint  Mihiel  clear  back 
to  Lake  Lachaussee. 

But  it  has  cost  something !  I  know  you  will  be  filled  with  grief 
when  you  learn  that  Tony  Carrari  has  made  the  great  sacrifice. 
Only  I  want  you  to  know  how  it  came  about,  and  then  you  will 
rejoice  as  I  do. 

Captain  Frank  Janes  was  making  a  dash  with  about  half  his 
company  and  had  cleaned  out  a  nasty  shell  hole  where  a  dozen 
Germans  had  a  machine  gun  hidden.  He  was  in  advance  of  his 
men.  Tony  Carrari  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  "Shiners"  were  with 
him.  Suddenly  one  of  the  Germans  who  was  supposed  to  be  dead 
— he  is  now! — raised  himself  up  and  threw  a  hand  grenade  point- 
blank  at  Janes.  It  fell  just  back  of  him  and  the  Captain  never 
saw  it. 

Tony  yelled  "Captain !"  and  threw  himself  upon  the  grenade 
before  it  exploded.  I  can't  write  of  it  for  the  tears  are  running 
down  my  face!  It  was  utter  devotion,  utter  loyalty,  and  the 
sacrifice  was  made  as  though  it  were  part  of  the  game.  The  poor 
boy  was  horribly  mutilated — his  breast  torn  to  shreds.  But  he 
saved  Janes  from  instant  death,  and  perhaps  a  dozen  more.  I  may 
as  well  confess  that  is  where  I  got  my  little  scratch  on  the  shoulder. 
Several  of  the  boys  were  hurt,  but  not  seriously. 

Captain  Janes  escaped  except  for  some  nasty  cuts  about  the 
eyes — he  turned  his  face  just  as  the  explosion  took  place.  He 
didn't  know  he  was  hurt  and  tried  to  lift  Tony,  but  the  brave 
lad  was  past  help.  Then  he  tried  to  rally  his  men,  but  his  eyes 
were  fast  closing.  So  he  gave  over  charge  to  a  lieutenant  and  I 
led  him  to  the  rear  where  he  was  given  first  aid.  The  army 
surgeon  said  he  would  be  sent  to  Paris  for  expert  treatment.  The 
only  fear,  of  course,  is  for  his  eyes.  The  thing  is  to  keep  him 


TIDINGS  FROM  SAINT  MIHIEL         279 

quiet.  I'm  afraid  he'll  be  out  of  it  for  several  months.  If  his 
sister  could  come  to  him,  it  would  insure  the  one  thing  such  cases 
seem  to  require — perfect  quietness  and  freedom  from  worry.  You 
will  know  how  to  advise.  My  own  judgment  is  she  ought  to  come. 
Dickens,  I've  only  this  to  say:  I'm  getting  the  message  I  came 
over  here  to  find.  Tony  has  brought  it  home  to  me  in  its  perfect- 
ness — the  stewardship  of  life!  You've  been  doing  some  things  at 
Old  First  that  are  just  beginning  to  get  through  to  me.  I've  been 
dull,  but  I'm  learning — learning  fast. 

As  ever, 

McRAE. 

Locke  choked  back  his  own  grief  and  turned  to  the 
one  thing  that  pressed  upon  him — the  ministry  of 
comfort.  He  drove  at  once  to  Dr.  Janes's  house  and 
found  Elizabeth  and  her  father  together.  Rose  Cop- 
ley was  with  them. 

"I  have  the  letter,"  he  said,  as  Elizabeth  met  him. 
He  placed  it  in  her  hands,  but  she  pressed  it  back. 

"Please  read  it,"  she  said. 

So  Locke  drew  his  chair  beside  the  Doctor's  and 
read  McRae's  graphic  letter  without  comment  or  word 
of  any  kind.  Elizabeth's  dark  eyes  never  left  his 
face,  and  when  he  had  finished  she  still  looked  at  him 
in  silent  gratitude.  Rose  Copley  sat  rigid  until  the 
letter  suggested  Elizabeth's  going  to  her  brother. 
Then  she  covered  her  face. 

Dr.  Janes's  grief  was  tragic — not  for  his  son,  but 
for  the  brave  soldier  who  had  given  his  life  for  him. 

"God  forgive  me!"  he  cried.  "I  would  not  let  the 
poor  boy  sit  in  my  pew — God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner!"  and  Locke  knew  that  salvation  had  come  to 
Old  First. 

As  Elizabeth  stroked  her  father's  hand  he  groaned, 
and  turned  to  Locke. 


280      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Richard  Locke,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  witness 
this  day  that  mine  shall  be  no  half-way  repentance.  I 
give  my  daughter,  as  I  have  given  my  son.  As  for  my- 
self— God  help  me!" 

And  then  it  was  that  sweet  Rose  Copley  spoke.  She 
stood  before  him  in  regal  womanhood,  her  hands 
clasped  before  her  and  the  rich  color  mantling  her  face. 

"Dr.  Janes,"  she  said,  "Elizabeth  must  stay  with 
you;  I  shall  go  to  Frank.  His  letter  to  Elizabeth" 
(she  drew  it  from  her  bosom)  "shall  be  my  passport 
to  him,  and  my  own  heart  will  tell  me  all  the  rest." 

And  so  it  was,  three  days  afterward,  that  Rose  Cop- 
ley slipped  away  to  New  York.  Elizabeth  took  her  to 
the  station  in  the  doctor's  limousine,  and  Locke  was 
there  to  see  that  she  was  helped  comfortably  aboard 
the  "Limited."  None  other  had  been  taken  into  confi- 
dence except  Mrs.  Heustis,  who  insisted  that  all  Rose's 
expenses,  and  a  generous  margin  besides,  should  be  pro- 
vided by  herself. 

"After  she  is  established  in  Paris,  or  London,  or 
wherever  they  intend  to  stay,  I'll  withdraw  gracefully 
— but  until  then  she's  my  other  daughter." 

It  was  near  the  end  of  October  when  the  first  letters 
came  from  Rose,  radiant  with  happiness.  Frank  had 
been  permitted  to  see  her  the  second  day ! 

Locke  had  one  letter  from  McRae,  for  the  Chaplain 
felt  that  certain  explanations  were  due.  The  last 
paragraph  was  of  peculiar  interest. 

And  so  I  married  them,  Dickens,  and  I'm  bound  to  be  glad  on 
their  account,  for  their  joy  is  something  wonderful.  The 
bandages  were  taken  from  the  Captain's  eyes  before  the  ceremony, 


TIDINGS  FROM  ST.  MIHIEL  281 

for  he  said  he  intended  to  see  what  I  was  giving  him  this  time! 
He  seemed  to  bear  a  grudge  against  me  at  first,  but  he's  forgiven 
everybody  everything.  Don't  be  cut  up,  old  man!  You're  too 
much  of  a  philosopher  to  let  it  spoil  your  life.  It  was  a  "phan- 
tom ship"  you  saw,  after  all! 

Locke  let  the  letter  fall  from  his  fingers  and  his  eyes 
wandered  toward  his  India  shelf. 

"Good  old  Mac !"  he  said,  and  tried  to  smile. 


CHAPTER  XX 
AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  October  Rhodin  Curtis  spoke 
to  Jarvis,  who  looked  after  the  clerical  work  in 
the  department  of  Notes  and  Discounts. 

"You  are  not  to  send  expiration  notice  to  King  and 
Kennedy,"  he  said.  "I'll  take  charge  of  that  matter 
myself." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Curtis." 

Rhodin's  word  was  law  at  the  City  National. 
James  Gilbert  had  come  to  rely  so  implicitly  upon  the 
efficient  cashier  of  the  bank  that  he  gave  little  or  no 
attention  to  the  regular  routine  of  business.  He  care- 
fully examined  the  monthly  statements;  no  detail 
escaped  his  scrutiny,  but  his  time  was  mostly  given  to 
directing  the  bank's  general  policy  and  looking  after 
the  permanent  investments. 

Things  certainly  were  going  well  with  Rhodin  Curtis. 
His  most  sanguine  expectations  were  more  than 
realized.  Mexican  Petroleum  had  moved  up  steadily 
point  by  point.  Then  it  leaped,  then  it  began  to  soar. 
By  the  18th  of  October  it  had  reached  the  sensational 
figure  of  191,  a  hundred  points  in  advance  of  his 
original  purchase  in  May.  After  that  it  receded  a  few 
points — "Just  to  strike  a  steady  gait,"  as  Passmore 
wrote. 

Rhodin  had  studied  the  market  with  absolute  atten- 
tion. While  there  might  be  a  slight  fall,  the  reaction 

282 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  283 

from  overpressure,  yet  he  was  convinced  that  "Mex 
Pete"  was  permanently  listed  among  high-grade  stocks. 
Its  place  in  the  world  of  finance  was  as  secure  as  the 
cause  of  the  Allies — "and  even  Germany  is  ready  to 
bank  on  that !"  he  laughed. 

When  it  became  known  that  the  German  High  Com- 
mand persistently  was  seeking  an  armistice  Rhodin 
wrote  to  Passmore,  "Sell  on  the  day  the  armistice  is 
signed."  He  penciled  his  sure  profits  in  his  notebook 
— a  clean  quarter  of  a  million,  no  matter  if  Mex  Pete 
dropped  back  twenty  points ! 

"This  is  a  matter  of  patriotism  with  me,"  he  wrote, 
"and  I'll  stay  with  it  until  the  armistice,  even  if  it  costs 
me  a  few  thousands.  I  don't  want  the  earth !" 

By  the  end  of  the  month  it  became  known  in  banking 
circles  that  James  Gilbert  had  made  a  half  million  in 
war  stocks.  He  received  the  congratulations  of  his 
friends  with  urbanity. 

"It's  simply  a  matter  of  good  judgment  in  using 
what  you've  got,"  he  said  to  Rhodin.  "I  had  Penn- 
sylvania stock  and  so  I  was  able  to  get  Mexican 
Petroleum." 

"Exactly!"  laughed  Rhodin.  "And  if  Lasher  had 
had  'good  judgment'  he  might  have  made  a  cool  hun- 
dred thousand  instead  of  being  under  indictment  by  the 
grand  jury — and  the  Club  never  would  have  been  the 
wiser !" 

Gilbert  frowned.  "Using  your  own  money  and 
using  trust  money  are  vastly  different  propositions." 

"But  according  to  your  Centenary  Prospectus — 
Dr.  Locke  sent  it  to  me  the  other  day — 'the  whole  of 
property  and  income  is  a  trust  from  God.'  " 


284      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"That  is  a  religious  statement,  Mr.  Curtis,  and  is 
not  concerned  with  practical  business." 
"So  I  perceive,"  answered  Rhodin,  dryly. 

But  though  comparative  wealth  was  about  to  fall 
into  Rhodin's  hands,  all  was  not  well  at  home. 
Bergith,  the  Swedish  maid  who  had  been  with  Clara 
since  her  marriage,  fell  ill  with  influenza.  She  died  the 
third  day  in  spite  of  expert  skill  and  nursing. 

Clara  had  lost  her  accustomed  tranquillity  and 
seemed  to  live  in  dread  of  some  portending  trouble. 
Rhodin  always  had  been  careful  to  shield  her,  and  it 
distressed  him  exceedingly  to  find  her  nervous  and  un- 
poised.  He  was  thoughtful  to  accompany  her  to  the 
Sunday  morning  readings  and  he  went  so  far  as  to  go 
over  with  her  some  new  "Reality"  booklets  that  Mrs. 
Kave  Rogers  had  sent  in.  He  even  chided  her  when 
she  spoke  of  the  fearful  spread  of  influenza  throughout 
the  country. 

"Keep  your  mind  on  the  pleasant  and  agreeable 
things  of  life,  Clara,"  he  said,  "and  don't  worry." 

This  was  the  last  week  of  October,  when  the  scourge 
was  taking  its  toll  of  thousands  every  day. 

"But,  Rho,"  answered  Clara,  with  a  look  of  fear  in 
her  eyes,  "Arthur  had  a  degree  of  fever  this  after- 
noon !"  They  were  just  sitting  down  to  dinner. 

Rhodin  looked  at  her  across  the  table.  "Did  you 
call  in  Dr.  Janes?"  he  asked. 

"N-no.    Mrs.  Rogers  was  here  and  'treated'  him." 

Rhodin  frowned,  but  said  nothing.  The  next  morn- 
ing Arthur  was  no  better.  "I'll  'phone  for  Dr.  Janes, 
Clara,"  he  said. 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  285 

Clara  bridled.  "Do  you  think  I  am  neglecting  my 
own  child?  Mrs.  Rogers  has  been  wonderfully  success- 
ful. She  has  been  giving  'treatment'  at  the  Bhymers' 
and  little  Victoria  is  almost  well.  Besides,  Dr.  Janes 
is  out  of  sympathy  with  me.  He  makes  it  difficult  for 
me  to  concentrate." 

Rhodin  looked  into  her  wide,  frightened  eyes  and 
kissed  her.  "But  I  insist  that  your  mother  shall  be 
told." 

"Mother  was  here  yesterday,  Rho,  and  will  be  here 
this  morning.  But  she  worries  me,  dear.  She  doesn't 
seem  to  understand — or  doesn't  want  to,"  and  Clara 
laid  her  tired  head  upon  her  husband's  shoulder. 

Rhodin  left  the  house  much  troubled.  He  passed 
Mrs.  Rogers's  electric  at  the  gate,  but  he  avoided  the 
side  glance  which  she  gave  him. 

Five  minutes  afterward  Mrs.  Rogers  and  Clara 
were  bending  over  the  sick  child.  Clara's  cool  hand 
was  upon  his  forehead,  while  Mrs.  Rogers  spoke  to  him 
coaxingly. 

"Our  little  boy  is  quite  well  this  morning,  isn't  he?" 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

"That's  it !"  the  dulcet  tones  went  on.  "When  little 
Arthur  shakes  his  head  he  means  'Yes,  thank  you — I'm 
very  well,  thank  you.' ' 

But  Arthur  was  fractious  and  turned  away  his  face. 
Mrs.  Rogers  at  once  moved  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed 
and  held  up  an  orange. 

"Now,  little  Arthur,  say  it  pretty,  after  Aunty 
Rogers — 'The  orange  is  nice  and  cool,  and  so  am  I.' 
Say  it,  dear." 

Arthur  evidently  had  his  own  thoughts  concerning 


286      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Aunty  Rogers  and  the  orange,  for  he  frowned  and 
again  turned  away  his  face.  Again  the  persistent 
smile  beamed  upon  him  and  the  honeyed  voice  flowed 
over  him.  This  time  Mrs.  Rogers  was  holding  up  a 
black,  limp  leather  book  with  gold  edges. 

"Say  it  after  Aunty  Rogers,  Arthur, — 'O  pretty 
book,  you  are  all  true,  all  true !'  " 

The  sick  child  looked  into  his  mother's  face  and  the 
big  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  Clara's  lips  were  trembling 
as  she  stroked  his  forehead. 

"Say  it,  my  precious!"  she  whispered  in  an  agony 
of  love. 

Arthur  opened  his  parched  lips  obediently.  "Pitty 
book,"  he  began.  And  then  the  little  child's  mouth 
quivered.  "O  mamma,"  he  sobbed,  "my  froat  hurts!" 

Clara's  arms  were  about  him  in  an  instant  and  her 
gentle  voice  was  soothing  him  into  quietness.  "No, 
you  needn't  say  it,  dear,"  she  whispered.  Mrs.  Rogers 
stood  up  stiffly. 

"I'll  wait  in  the  front  room,  Mrs.  Curtis,"  she  said, 
"until  you  have  ceased  yielding  to  mortal  mind."  In 
a  few  moments  Arthur  had  dropped  into  a  fitful  sleep 
and  Clara  joined  her.  There  was  a  glint  of  anger  in 
her  deep  eyes. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Curtis,"  began  her  visitor  in  level  tones, 
but  with  the  pervasive  smile  that  never  left  her,  "we 
must  have  consonance  of  mind,  or  little  Arthur  cannot 
feel  the  flow  of  the  over-soul.  There  was  dissonance, 
I  fear,  at  his  bedside,"  and  Mrs.  Rogers  looked  vaguely 
at  the  window  hangings. 

"My  child  is  sick,  Mrs.  Rogers,"  answered  Clara, 
simply. 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  287 

"My  dear,  are  you  forgetting  the  first  principles  of 
'Reality'?  Pain,  trouble,  sickness — these  are  the  un- 
pleasant illusions  of  mortal  mind.  They  are  entirely 
unreal.  We  must  deny  them  constantly,  and  fix  our 
thought  upon  Eternal  Mind.  That  alone  is  real." 

Clara  said  nothing.  Suddenly  before  her  stood  the 
millions  on  millions  that  Elizabeth  so  often  talked 
about — weary  people  stretching  out  despairing  hands 
to  Something  in  the  Dark — something  without  person- 
ality, without  a  name,  that  did  not  know  anything  and 
could  not  feel  anything.  And  it  seemed,  for  the 
moment,  that  she  was  one  of  them,  stretching  out  her 
hands. 

Then  she  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Rogers  as  she  went 
on  affably: 

"Perhaps  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  use  esoteric  and 
unaccompanied  treatment  until  you  can  again  get 
yourself  en  rapport  with  the  over-soul.  There  was 
entire  lack  of  harmony  this  morning.  If  Mrs.  Bhymer 
had  not  united  with  me  in  denying  this  unhappy  illu- 
sion, which  the  doctors  call  'influenza,'  little  Victoria 
would  not  have  been  smiling  and  happy  as  she  was  last 
night." 

"Is  Victoria  better?"  asked  Clara,  wistfully. 

"There  you  are  again,  Mrs.  Curtis!  If  I  should 
say  she  is  'better'  it  would  be  admitting  that  little 
Victoria  has  been  sick,  and  that  Mrs.  Bhymer  and  I 
resolutely  deny.  I  really  must  ask  Professor  Roome 
to  give  you  his  special  course  of  lessons  in  'The  Un- 
reality of  Symptoms.'  Victoria  threw  a  kiss  to  me 
as  I  left  her  last  evening,  and  said,  'I'm  quite  well,  thank 
you,  Aunty  Rogers.'  It  was  perfectly  darling  of  her !" 


288      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"How  is  she  this  morning?"  asked  Clara,  relentlessly. 

"Now  you're  permitting  doubt  to  cloud  the  All-Real ! 
You  mustn't  do  it,  you  know,"  and  Mrs.  Rogers  smiled 
archly  and  laid  a  soft  hand  upon  her  arm.  The  hori- 
zontal voice  went  on.  "You  sit  in  that  big  chair  by  the 
window,  dear,  and  concentrate  the  best  you  can,  and 
I'll  sit  down  alone  by  Arthur's  bed  and  enter  into  the 
silence.  Don't  interrupt  me  for  at  least  thirty 
minutes." 

Clara  did  not  look  at  her  as  she  left  the  room,  but 
threw  herself  upon  the  couch  and  burst  into  a  passion 
of  weeping.  There  Mrs.  Heustis  found  her. 

"What  is  it,  my  child?" 

"O,  mother,  help  me — I'm  afraid  Arthur  has  in- 
fluenza !" 

"Has  Dr.  Janes  seen  him?" 

"N-no.     Mrs.  Rogers  is  here." 

Mrs.  Heustis  pressed  her  lips  together  and  hurried 
in  to  Arthur.  She  did  not  look  at  the  tense  figure  by 
the  side  of  the  bed,  but  placed  her  hand  upon  the 
child's  burning  forehead.  When  Mrs.  Rogers  walked 
stiffly  into  the  next  room  Clara's  mother  followed  her 
and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  There  was  distinct 
sharpness  in  Mrs.  Rogers's  voice. 

"I  asked  that  I  might  not  be  interrupted,"  she  said, 
angrily.  "Mrs.  Bhymer  is  always  careful  to  have 
little  Victoria  surrounded  by  mental  harmony." 

Soft  tears  sprang  into  Mrs.  Heustis's  eyes.  "Then 
Mrs.  Bhymer  may  find  comfort,  after  all,"  she  said. 
"Little  Victoria  died  this  morning.  I  have  just  come 
from  there." 

Mrs.  Rogers's  face  turned  purple.  "I — I  can't  believe 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  289 

it !"  The  words  formed  themselves  on  her  lips,  but  no 
voice  came.  Then  a  deathly  pallor  spread  from  lips 
to  forehead  and  the  wretched  woman  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  "There  is  some  awful  mistake  about  it, 
Mrs.  Heustis,"  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

Clara  looked  at  her  with  eyes  that  did  not  waver. 
"If  Arthur  dies,  Mrs.  Rogers,  I  shall  not  hold  you 
responsible — I  myself  am  to  blame.  I  do  not  expect 
God  to  forgive  me.  I  never  shall  forgive  myself." 
Her  lips  were  white  and  her  eyes  were  tearless.  She 
turned  wearily  and  entered  the  little  white  bedroom. 

An  hour  afterward  Dr.  Janes  took  both  her  cold 
hands  in  his  and  chafed  them. 

"I  want  you  to  be  brave,  Clara,"  he  said.  "Arthur 
is  a  sick  boy,  but  God  is  able  to  heal  him.  He  has  a 
splendid  constitution,  and  the  nurse  will  be  here  before 
noon.  Your  mother  will  not  leave  you  for  a  moment, 
and  I  want  you  to  unite  your  prayer  with  hers.  God 
will  be  with  you,  my  child,  and  raise  up  the  little  lad 
for  you  and  Rhodin."  The  good  doctor's  words  never 
before  had  failed  to  cheer,  but  Clara  shook  her  head. 
"You  and  mother  must  pray.  I  can't.  I — I've  for- 
gotten how!"  and  her  lips  trembled. 

Dr.  Janes  went  away  sorrowful.  He  stopped  at  the 
bank  for  a  brief  conference  with  Rhodin,  but  found  him 
strangely  preoccupied.  To  the  doctor's  practiced  eye 
he  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of  suppressed  excitement. 

That  morning  the  cashier's  first  business  had  been 
to  ask  Mr.  Jarvis  to  send  him  King  and  Kennedy's  ex- 
tended note,  due  November  first.  The  clerk  came  to 
him  in  some  confusion. 


290      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Curtis ;  I  was  down  with  the  'flu'  last 
week,  and  I  forgot  to  give  Miss  Cole  instructions  re- 
garding King  and  Kennedy's  extension.  She  sent 
notice  along  with  the  others." 

Rhodin  turned  livid. 

"I  hope  there's  no  harm  done,"  said  the  unhappy 
Jarvis,  looking  at  the  cashier  anxiously. 

Rhodin  pulled  himself  together  by  sheer  force  of 
will.  "What  date  was  the  expiration  notice  sent?"  he 
asked. 

"There  was  a  bunch  of  fourteen,  all  due  to-day. 
Miss  Cole  said  she  sent  all  the  notices  together  on  the 
twenty-third." 

Rhodin  breathed  freer.  He  knew  that  Sanford 
Kennedy  paid  little  attention  to  the  formalities  of  busi- 
ness. He  probably  had  thrown  the  expiration  notice 
into  the  waste  basket  without  giving  it  a  thought.  If 
he  had  been  annoyed  by  the  bank's  mistake  he  would 
have  made  complaint  before  now.  Eight  days  had 
passed  and  no  such  word  had  been  received.  It  was 
likely  forgotten  before  now. 

"Very  well,  Jarvis,  that  will  do.  I  will  take  the 
matter  up  with  King  and  Kennedy.  Be  careful  next 
time — and  be  thankful  that  I'm  giving  you  a  next  time ! 
Sickness  is  no  excuse  for  neglect." 

Rhodin  was  relieved  of  any  immediate  anxiety,  but 
he  knew  there  should  not  be  a  day's  delay  in  covering 
the  twenty  thousand  back  into  the  bank  "cash."  The 
mere  clerical  blunder  was  of  no  consequence.  He  wired 
to  Passmore  within  the  hour — 

"Sell  thirty-five  hundred  shares  Mex  Pete  and  remit 
in  full  at  earliest  possible  moment." 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  291 

Passmore's  answer  was  handed  to  him  as  he  was 
going  out  to  lunch. 

"Market  temporarily  dull,  but  expect  to  make  sale 
within  week." 

That  night  Arthur  was  worse,  and  Clara  looked  at 
him  with  burning  eyes.  "He's  going  to  die,  Rho,  and 
I'm  to  blame !"  she  said.  Rhodin  tried  to  comfort  her, 
but  the  words  would  not  come. 

Saturday  and  Sunday  passed  without  change.  Mon- 
day morning  Dr.  Janes  gave  a  little  smile  of  encourage- 
ment. "Elizabeth  is  coming  to  take  you  out  for  an 
airing,"  he  said  to  Clara.  "Arthur  will  be  better  if 
his  mother  is  happier." 

Clara  went,  but  it  was  a  cheerless  drive. 

"There's  nothing  real,  Elizabeth,"  she  said.  "I've 
been  deceived,  and  I  can't  believe  anything !  I've  tried 
to  believe  ever  since  that  horrible  day — but  I  just 
can't!" 

"Don't  try,  dear.  Arthur  doesn't  'try  to  believe' 
you,  does  he?"  and  Elizabeth  looked  into  her  face  with 
gentle  sympathy.  But  Clara  did  not  answer. 

On  Tuesday  morning  Sanford  Kennedy  walked  into 
the  bank  and  paused  at  the  cashier's  desk.  He  was 
laughing.  "I've  got  one  on  Gilbert,  this  time,"  he 
said,  and  passed  into  the  president's  private  office. 
Rhodin  steeled  himself  and  waited  to  hear  the  buzzer 
of  his  telephone. 

"Can  you  step  in  for  a  moment?"  came  Gilbert's 
voice. 

"Certainly." 

As  Rhodin  walked  across  the  corridor  he  was 
amazed  at  his  own  quietness.  He  always  had  doubted 


292      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

the  stories  that  a  man  could  face  a  firing  squad  without 
a  tremor.  He  knew  it  now. 

Kennedy  still  was  laughing.  "Gilbert  has  been 
warning  me  for  twenty  years  against  what  he  calls  my 
'slip-shod  business  habits,'  and  now  it's  my  turn  to  get 
back  at  him.  He  actually  doesn't  believe  that  I 
handed  you  our  balance  of  twenty  thousand !" 

Rhodin  smiled.  "And  you  want  me  to  witness  to  it? 
Well,  I'll  do  that  all  right!  Why  didn't  you  show 
him  the  canceled  note?" 

"Well,  I  reckon  that's  where  Gilbert  scores !  I  sup- 
pose I  tore  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  waste  basket — 
though  I  don't  remember  that  the  bank  ever  returned 
it  to  me.  But  what  made  me  laugh  at  my  finical 
friend,  Gilbert,  was  to  get  this  notice  of  expiration 
from  a  bank  that  prides  itself  on  its  'exact  business 
methods,'  "  and  he  laid  the  slip  on  the  president's  desk 
and  laughed  again. 

Curtis  looked  at  it.  "That  fool,  Jarvis,  has  been 
bungling  his  work  again,"  he  said,  angrily.  Gilbert's 
jaw  set,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

Kennedy  stood  up,  "Well,  I'll  let  you  two  thresh  it 
out  together,"  he  said.  "I've  had  my  fun  out  of  it! 
I  reckon  it's  no  greater  sin  for  a  bank  clerk  to  get  his 
vouchers  mixed  than  it  is  for  a  chemist's  apprentice  to 
put  too  much  potassium  into  a  tub  of  dye — and  I've 
seen  that  done  about  once  a  week  for  twenty  years. 
So  go  easy  on  your  clerks,  Gilbert.  There's  no  harm 
done !"  and  Sanford  Kennedy  left  the  room. 

Rhodin  began  without  a  moment's  pause.  "I'm 
sorry  this  had  to  come  to  you,  Mr.  Gilbert.  I  recog- 
nized the  mistake  the  moment  the  October  statement 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  293 

came  downstairs.  I've  been  analyzing  the  balance 
sheet  and  expect  to  have  it  straightened  out  by  the 
end  of  the  week." 

"Where  do  you  think  the  mistake  originated?" 

"In  Jarvis's  department  without  any  question.  He 
was  down  with  influenza  the  last  week  in  October,  and 
some  of  the  clerks  have  been  messing  up  'Notes  and 
Discounts.'  I'm  about  ready  to  put  my  finger  on  the 
spot." 

"It  looks  to  me  more  than  an  accountant's  blunder," 
said  Gilbert.  "It  means  the  bank  'cash'  was  twenty 
thousand  to  the  bad  on  October  thirty-first." 

"Impossible,  Mr.  Gilbert !  I've  had  the  'cash'  under 
my  own  immediate  scrutiny.  There's  been  some  mix- 
up  in  the  posting." 

"Well,  I  hope  you're  right,  Curtis.  Please  get  the 
matter  straightened  without  delay — it  worries  me." 

"I'll  have  it  ironed  out  within  a  week ;  don't  bother." 
Rhodin  left  him  with  a  cheery  smile  and  returned  to  his 
desk. 

That  night  he  sat  down  by  his  library  table  and 
thought  it  through.  He  knew  what  he  must  do.  He 
had  sensed  it  the  moment  he  saw  Kennedy  enter  the 
president's  office;  he  knew  there  was  no  other  possible 
solution. 

A  few  days,  a  week  at  most,  and  James  Gilbert  would 
expect  the  accountant's  mistake  to  be  pointed  out  to 
him.  There  was  no  mistake.  The  accountant's  state- 
ment called  for  a  certain  cash  balance  on  October  31st. 
That  exact  balance,  according  to  the  cashier's  signed 
report,  actually  was  on  hand  on  the  date  named.  It 


294      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

now  appeared  that  twenty  thousand  dollars  had  been 
paid  in,  some  sixty  days  before,  and  there  was  no 
record  of  it — not  a  line !  Jarvis  might  be  convicted  of 
failure  to  make  the  record,  but  how  was  it  that  the 
cash  balance,  as  reported  by  himself,  failed  to  show 
the  twenty  thousand  on  hand? 

There  was  no  possible  way  of  adjusting  it.  It  would 
be  easy  enough  to  replace  the  twenty  thousand — yes, 
and  ten  times  twenty  thousand !  But  he  could  not  re- 
call the  cashier's  signed  report  for  the  month  of 
October.  That  was  part  of  the  permanent  record  of 
the  bank  and  was  in  Mr.  Gilbert's  hands.  He  had 
"borrowed"  Mr.  Kennedy's  twenty  thousand  because 
he  knew  he  was  in  an  official  position  perfectly  to  con- 
trol the  bank  machinery.  The  machinery  had  slipped. 
Mr.  Kennedy  would  lose  nothing.  The  bank  would 
lose  nothing.  What  then?  Rhodin  took  a  swift  turn 
the  length  of  his  library  and  then  sat  down  again.  He 
stared  straight  before  him. 

"//  such  a  thing  should  happen  at  our  bank  I  would 
expose  it  instantly,  no  matter  whom  it  might  involve, 
and  no  matter  if  the  bank  were  reimbursed  twice  over. 
I  will  forgive  a  common  thief,  but  the  betrayer  of  a 
trust  shall  have  no  mercy — none!" 

Rhodin  heard  again  the  just  yet  merciless  words 
that  had  compelled  the  indictment  of  Joe  Lasher.  It 
was  a  righteous  judgment.  Rhodin  admitted  it.  He 
had  no  false  pity  for  himself  and  he  would  ask  none.  He 
had  taken  a  chance — and  lost.  He  would  abide  the 
consequences.  , 

But  no  earthly  power  could  compel  him  to  bring 
shame  upon  others.  There  should  not  be  another  Mary 


AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT  295 

Lasher !  He  had  protected  Kennedy  and  the  bank ;  his 
business  now  was  to  protect  Clara  and  Arthur — unless 
God  in  mercy  would  take  the  child  out  of  the  world. 
A  spasm  of  agony  convulsed  him.  Then  he  held  him- 
self rigid  as  iron.  What  right  had  he  to  indulge  the 
luxury  of  sorrow !  He  had  a  duty  to  perform.  Clara 
would  grieve — but  poignant  grief  was  less  than  cruci- 
fixion. Gilbert's  just  anger  would  not  seek  to  follow 
where  he  was  going,  and  Clara  would  be  spared  a  living 
death.  .  .  . 

His  wife's  hand  touched  his  shoulder.  "Rho,  dear, 
I  feel  just  a  little  encouraged  to-night.  Dr.  Janes 
thinks  that  Arthur  has  a  chance  of  getting  well." 

"I'm  so  glad  for  you,  Clara,"  he  said.  He  drew  her 
to  him  and  held  her  close. 

Thursday  morning  Rhodin  received  a  wire  from 
Passmore. 

"Stock  sold  at  173.  Statement  and  remittance  by 
mail  to-day." 

"Just  in  time,"  Rhodin  whispered.  He  figured 
rapidly  for  a  moment  on  his  desk  pad,  then  a  soft  light 
filled  his  eyes. 

On  Saturday  Gilbert  called  him  in  and  asked  queru- 
lously how  soon  he  would  be  ready  with  the  corrected 
statement. 

"Give  yourself  no  concern,  Mr.  Gilbert,"  he  answered 
quietly.  "I  have  positive  knowledge  that  the  bank 
records  and  the  bank  cash  are  in  perfect  agreement  at 
the  present  moment.  The  statement  will  be  ready  for 
you  Monday." 

Then  he  showed  in  his  strong,  convincing  fashion  that 


296      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

the  bank's  interests  required  a  brief  consultation  with 
several  of  the  eastern  houses. 

"I  shall  be  leaving  Monday,"  he  said. 

"All  right,  Curtis — but  not  until  our  own  snarls  are 
untangled." 

Rhodin  laughed.  "You  needn't  let  that  cause  you 
any  loss  of  sleep ;  the  statement  will  be  on  your  desk  the 
first  thing  Monday  morning." 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  OLD  PATHS 

ON  Sunday  Rhodin  told  his  wife  he  would  have  to 
leave  for  New  York  in  the  afternoon.  For  the 
first  time  Clara  broke  down. 

"Do  you  have  to  go,  Rho,  while  Arthur  is  so  sick?" 

"Yes,  Clara;  there  is  no  avoiding  it."  He  spoke 
quietly,  but  when  Clara  looked  at  him  his  face  was 
ashen. 

"Poor  dear,"  she  said,  "you  feel  it  as  much  as  I  do !" 
He  did  not  answer  her,  but  held  her  to  him  in  silent 
agony. 

At  four  o'clock  the  taxi  was  at  the  door.  Rhodin 
went  to  Arthur's  room,  but  the  nurse  put  her  finger  to 
her  lips.  The  child  was  sleeping.  He  looked  at  him, 
but  did  not  cross  the  threshold. 

"Good-by,  dear,"  he  said,  cheerily,  as  Clara  came  to 
him  in  the  hall.  "You'll  be  happy,  and  everything  will 
come  out  all  right.  Keep  up  a  brave  heart." 

"And  you,  Rho?" 

"O,  I'll  be  brave,"  he  laughed.  "I  have  to  be !"  and  he 
waved  his  hand  as  he  stepped  into  the  waiting  car.  But 
Clara  read  the  anguish  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  back  at 
her. 

That  morning  Dr.  Janes  had  seemed  anxious.  "The 
fever  is  unusually  stubborn,"  he  said.  "If  it  doesn't 
break  by  evening  I'll  have  to  change  the  treatment,  and 
I  don't  care  to  do  that.  I  wish  you  yourself  were  less 

297 


298      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

nervous,  Clara ;  it  would  help  a  lot.  Can't  you  have  a 
little  more  faith  in  your  heavenly  Father  ?"  He  looked 
at  her  affectionately. 

"I'll  try,  Doctor,"  she  said  with  troubled  eyes. 

"That's  right,  dear.  Let  your  mother  stay  with 
Arthur  to-day,  and  you  try  to  get  quiet.  Read  the 
Bible.  Read  some  good  devotional  book.  Then  pray 
a  little.  It  will  do  you  good — and  that  will  help 
Arthur,  don't  you  see?" 

'Til  do  my  best." 

It  was  just  before  sundown  that  Elizabeth  found  her 
in  the  library.  The  book  of  Psalms  was  open  in  her 
lap  and  she  was  reading  a  little  /Volume  that  she  had 
picked  up  during  the  previous  summer. 

"I'm  trying  the  best  I  can,  Elizabeth,"  she  said,  dis- 
consolately, "but  it's  awfully  hard  to  have  a  friendly 
attitude  when  one  has  been  deceived." 

"No  one  ought  to  have  a  friendly  attitude  toward 
poison  ivy!"  answered  Elizabeth  with  spirit.  "What 
have  you  been  reading?" 

Clara  pointed  to  a  paragraph  in  the  little  volume  in 
her  hand: 

"A  friendly  attitude,  an  attitude  of  genuine,  abounding  good 
will  is  the  only  sane,  constructive,  normal  attitude  of  mind  and 
heart.  No  one  can  enter  into  harmonious  relations  with  his  en- 
vironment, here  or  hereafter,  until  he  has  learned  the  secret  of 
unselfish  love.  The  more  life  you  radiate  the  more  life  you  have; 
the  more  good  will  you  give  forth  the  more  returns  to  you.  Even 
the  animals  feel  and  reciprocate  your  friendship;  the  plants  seem 
to  be  partial  to  their  lovers;  the  leaves  of  the  forest  whisper  poems 
to  him  who  has  ears  to  hear;  every  flower  is  a  revelation  to  the 
prophet;  every  blade  of  grass  is  an  eloquent  tongue  to  him  who 
has  understanding;  and  the  Great  Cosmos  reveals  its  mystic  laws 
only  to  the  worshipful,  adoring  mind." 


THE  OLD  PATHS  299 

"I  thought  that  was  so  helpful  when  I  read  it  last 
summer,  but  it  seems  vague  and  meaningless  to  me 
now,"  and  Clara  looked  pensively  through  the  window. 

Elizabeth  drew  a  chair  up  beside  her.  "The  trouble 
with  so  many  devotional  books  is  that  they  seem  to 
forget  plain  human  folks.  They  aim  to  be  mystical 
and  end  by  being  misty.  I've  learned  more  from  your 
dear  mother  than  any  other  person  I  ever  knew." 
Elizabeth  spoke  earnestly. 

"Mother  is  very  practical,  I  know." 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "But,  Clara,  'practical'  is  an- 
other name  for  'spiritual.'  Just  try  to  analyze  that 
paragraph.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  'unselfish  love' 
unless  you  have  actual  persons  in  mind.  We  can't 
just  love';  we  love  'persons.' ' 

"We  can  love  animals,  dear." 

"Yes,  just  as  I  used  to  love  our  old  horse,  Prince. 
But  when  we  love  animals  it  is  because  we  regard  them 
in  some  sense  as  personal.  We  think  they  return  our 
affection,  whether  they  do  or  not.  We  don't  love 
toads  and  rats — unless  we  happen  to  be  prisoners  in 
the  'moated  castle'  for  twenty  years !" 

They  both  laughed. 

"I  thought  you  had  forgotten  that  old  story,"  said 
Clara. 

"And  just  read  that  last  sentence — 'The  Great 
Cosmos  reveals  its  mystic  laws  only  to  the  worshipful, 
adoring  mind.'  The  'Cosmos'  can't  'reveal'  anything! 
We  don't  worship  the  'Cosmos,'  like  the  Parsis  of  India ; 
we  worship  God  and  adore  him.  It  is  He  who  're- 
veals.' " 

Clara  covered  her  face.     "O,  Elizabeth,  I'm  afraid 


300      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

I'll  never  understand  it !  It  used  to  seem  so  easy  and 
natural  when  we  were  girls  together.  But  for  more 
than  three  years  I've  stopped  thinking  of  God  as 
'personal,'  and  it  won't  come  back  to  me.  That's  the 
reason  I  can't  pray !" 

Elizabeth  sat  silent  for  a  moment. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  'person*  ?"  she  asked. 

Clara  looked  up  startled.  "Why — a  person  is — we 
used  to  study  about  it  in  psychology,  didn't  we?" 

"Yes,  dear,  but  I  learned  more  in  India  than  I  ever 
did  in  school.  I  think  I  was  driven  to  it  because 
paganism  is  such  an  endless  confusion.  The  people 
wander  in  a  mental  fog  all  the  time." 

"What  is  a  'person,'  Elizabeth?  I'm  afraid  I've 
been  in  the  same  fog  as  the  people  out  in  India."  A 
faint  flush  overspread  Clara's  face. 

"Shall  I  talk  to  you,  dear,  just  as  I  would  to  my 
schoolgirls  out  there?" 

"Please  do." 

"All  right,  Clara,"  and  she  laughed.  "Why  am  I 
different  from  this  chair?" 

"You  are  a  'person'  and  a  chair  is  a  'thing.' ' 

"That's  it — and  you  remember  the  rest  of  it,  about 
having  'self-knowledge'  and  'self-control.'  But  all 
that's  in  the  books,  and  I  can't  be  'bookish.'  Tell  me, 
Clara,  who  am  /?" 

"You  are  my  sweet  Elizabeth." 

"How  near  am  I  to  you?" 

"You  are  about  a  foot  from  me." 

"No,  no — I,  Elizabeth,  how  near  am  /  to  you  ?" 

"Just  as  close  as  you  can  get — right  inside  my 
heart!"  and  Clara's  eyes  filled. 


THE  OLD  PATHS  301 

Elizabeth  stood  up  and  walked  over  to  the  door. 

"How  near  am  I  now,  dear?" 

"Inside  my  heart — always !" 

Elizabeth  came  back  and  sat  down  again.  "How  is 
it  that  I  was  just  as  near  you  at  the  door  as  I  am  now? 
Why  doesn't  space  or  time  make  any  difference?" 

"Because  you  are  a  person." 

"So  it  is  with  God,  dear.  He  is  not  far  away  from 
you.  He  is  here.  Now  suppose  something  awful  for 
a  moment.  Suppose  this  house  was  on  fire,  and  you 
and  little  Arthur  were  in  danger,  and  Mr.  Curtis 
rescued  you,  but  lost  his  own  life — what  would  he  be 
giving  for  your  sake — something  valuable  which  he 
possessed?" 

"No — himself."  The  words  came  in  a  sharp  whisper, 
for  Clara  saw  again  Rhodin's  ashen  face. 

"Couldn't  he  do  the  same  thing  for  you  even  if  he 
were  a  thousand  miles  away — just  as  our  soldiers  in 
France  are  doing  for  all  of  us?  Couldn't  he  be  think- 
ing and  planning  for  your  happiness  even  if  it  should 
cost  him  his  own  life,  a  thousand  miles  from  here?" 

"O  Elizabeth,  don't!     You  frighten  me!" 

"No,  dear,  you  needn't  be  frightened.  It  was  only 
an  illustration.  I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Curtis  because 
father  told  me  he  had  to  leave  for  New  York,  and  I 
knew  he  would  be  very  near  to  you — in  fact,  I  was 
praying  for  him." 

Clara  leaned  toward  her.  "Why  can't  I  pray, 
Elizabeth?  I  try  and  try,  but  there's  no  comfort  or 
gladness  in  it." 

"It's  because  you  think  of  your  prayer,  dear,  instead 
of  the  Person  to  whom  you  are  speaking.  So  many 


302      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

people  in  America,  I  mean  people  who  pray,  are  like 
the  people  in  India ;  they  imagine  there's  some  mystical 
power  in  the  prayer  itself,  that  it  sets  in  motion,  or 
releases,  some  mysterious  spiritual  force." 

"Why,  Elizabeth,  do  you  know,  that's  the  very  teach- 
ing of  'Reality !'  " 

"I  know  it  is,  dear,  and  I'm  afraid  a  good  many 
Christian  people,  who  have  nothing  to  do  with  'Reality,' 
regard  prayer  in  much  the  same  way." 

"Then  what  is  prayer?" 

"I  don't  think  I  could  answer  that  question,  for 
Hindus  and  Buddhists  and  Jews  and  Mohammedans 
pray,  and  Catholics  and  Protestants,  and  people  with 
new  creeds  and  some  with  no  creeds  at  all.  They  all 
pray.  Many  scientific  books  are  being  written  about 
prayer  which  I  haven't  had  time  to  read.  I'm  only  a 
woman  like  you,  dear,  but  I  think  I  know  what  Jesus 
meant  by  it." 

"Tell  me,  Elizabeth." 

"Prayer  is  stewardship;  it  is  a  partnership  between 
two  persons.  Prayer  is  not  to  get  something.  It  is  to 
give  something.  It  is  to  help  God  bring  to  pass  the 
desire  of  his  own  loving  heart." 

Clara's  eyes  were  full  of  wonder  as  Elizabeth  went 
on: 

"You  see,  God  is  a  Person.  I  don't  know  what  that 
means,  for  I  don't  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that  I 
myself  am  a  person.  Psychology  gives  only  a  glimpse 
into  the  mystery  of  personality.  The  only  way  to 
understand  personality  is  to  know  persons  themselves. 
The  only  reason  I  can  understand  you,  Clara,  is  be- 
cause I  know  you  and  love  you.  And  so  it  is  with  God." 


THE  OLD  PATHS  303 

Elizabeth's  dark  eyes  were  soft  in  the  gathering  twi- 
light. 

"That  is  why  prayer  is  so  easy,  Clara ;  so  simple  for 
a  Christian  to  understand  and  yet  so  mysterious  to  the 
world.  It  looks  like  a  mystical  'force'  generated  or 
released  in  secret,  but  it  is  not  so — it  is  two  persons 
working  together  'in  secret.'  It  is  the  Christian's 
desire  uniting  with  God's  will.  Don't  you  imagine 
God's  heart  is  filled  with  anguish  for  France  and 
Belgium,  and  poor  misguided  Germany?  And  don't 
you  think  God  is  concerned  about  little  Arthur?  The 
child  is  yours  in  trust,  but  he  belongs  to  God.  We 
think  we  have  a  burden  to  bear,  but  we  forget  it  is  his 
burden  more  than  it  is  ours." 

Clara  leaned  her  head  against  Elizabeth.  The  tears 
were  slowly  trickling  down  her  face,  but  she  said  noth- 
ing. Elizabeth  went  on: 

"Piyari,  my  head  Bible  woman  in  India,  gave  me  a 
wonderful  lesson  one  day.  She  brought  me  a  verse  in 
the  sixty-eighth  psalm  that  is  translated  in  our  Ameri- 
can version,  'Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  daily  beareth 
our  burden.'  I  always  thought  it  was  one  of  those 
wonderful  promises  which  help  us  to  cast  our  burden 
upon  God,  but  she  insisted  that  the  proper  meaning 
was  this — 'Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  daily  beareth  us 
his  burden' — and,  Clara,  I  looked  it  up  in  one  of  the 
critical  commentaries  and  that  is  the  translation  that 
is  preferred.  It  is  wonderful  to  think  that  what  we 
call  our  fears  and  sorrows,  whether  for  ourselves  or  for 
the  world,  are  the  heavy  burdens  that  rest  down  upon 
the  heart  of  God.  And  this  is  what  I  mean  when  I  say 
that  prayer  is  stewardship — it  is  to  lift  his  burden. 


304      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

It  is  not  to  get  something  but  to  give  something. 
When  the  sorrow  is  lifted  from  the  heart  of  God,  his 
joy  comes  to  us." 

Clara's  tears  were  falling.  "Tell  him,  Elizabeth, 
that  I  want  to — but  I'm  not  fit  to  speak  to  him — after 
I've  denied  him  so  horribly !  Please  tell  him !" 

And  Elizabeth  spoke  as  to  One  beside  them. 

"Thou  hast  heard  her  prayer,  dear  Father,  for  thou 
art  here,  with  us.  She  was  out  among  the  shadows, 
and  she  did  not  see  thy  face.  And  she  could  not  hear 
thee  speak  because  the  false  voices  were  all  about  her, 
and  deceived  her.  O  the  pitiful  millions  that  have 
wandered  far  where  Clara  only  took  a  tiny  step !  Help 
them  all  to  see  thy  face,  as  Clara  sees  it  now,  and  to 
hear  thy  voice.  Thy  burden  is  upon  her,  Lord;  now 
let  her  have  thy  joy.  Make  little  Arthur  well,  if  it 
please  thee,  and  let  the  sorrows  of  this  dear  home  be 
remembered  as  waters  that  have  passed  away." 

Elizabeth  ceased  and  for  a  moment  there  was  tense 
quiet.  Then  Clara  slipped  from  her  chair  and  began 
to  pray — not  for  herself,  not  for  her  child,  but  for 
Rhodin.  All  the  pride,  the  vanity,  the  falsehood  of  the 
past  three  years  Clara  confessed  with  bitter  shame, 
while  all  the  time  the  anguish  of  her  heart  was  not  that 
she  should  be  forgiven — she  seemed  to  expect  that — 
but  that  the  burden  of  it  should  not  fall  upon  her 
husband.  She  prayed  that  Rhodin  might  be  protected 
on  his  journey,  that  all  danger  should  be  kept  from 
him,  that  he  should  have  comfort  and  blessing  and 
guidance — above  all  that  he  should  be  brought  back  to 
her — that  together  they  might  know  the  sweetness  of 
God's  fellowship  and  love. 


THE  OLD  PATHS  305 

Then  Clara's  agony  was  lifted,  and  when  presently 
Mrs.  Heustis  came  in  to  say  that  supper  was  waiting, 
her  face  was  radiant.  Her  mother  held  her  close. 

"I  knew  it,  Clara — I  knew  your  father's  God  and 
mine  would  not  let  you  wander  away  altogether !" 

Dr.  Janes  came  in  while  they  were  at  supper  and 
went  directly  to  Arthur's  room.  He  was  down  again 
in  a  few  minutes. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  sick  boy?"  he 
said.  "It's  a  shame  to  bring  an  old  doctor  half  way 
across  the  city  just  to  hear  a  happy  little  fellow  say 
he  wants  some  bread  and  milk!  And,  Clara,  you'd 
better  give  him  what  he  wants,  for  he  hasn't  a  sign  of 
fever — I  say,  now,  that's  no  way  to  treat  a  starched 
shirt  front — here,  take  my  handkerchief,  child — we'll 
share  it  together." 

A  half  hour  before  evening  service  at  the  church, 
Richard  Locke  dropped  in  to  inquire  after  the  sick 
child.  James  Gilbert  was  with  him.  The  banker's 
gladness  was  very  genuine  when  he  learned  that  Arthur 
was  much  better;  the  little  child  and  he  were  great 
friends.  Clara  took  him  to  Arthur's  room,  leaving 
Locke  and  Elizabeth  together. 

Only  yesterday  Locke  had  written  to  John  Roberts 
that  he  was  ready  for  appointment  to  the  Punjab, 
provided  First  Church  would  release  him.  His  heart 
leaped  to  whisper  the  word  to  Elizabeth — to  shout  it ! 
But  he  dared  not.  Some  look,  some  tremor  of  his  voice 
might  betray  him.  He  stood  embarrassed  by  the  table 
and  turned  over  the  magazines. 

But  Elizabeth  felt  no  unnatural  restraint.     She  was 


306      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

thrilling  to  tell  him  what  had  happened.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  she  poured  out  her  heart's  glad- 
ness— Clara  had  come  back  to  God.  She  spoke  rapidly, 
her  wonderful  eyes  looking  into  his  face.  In  his  deep- 
est soul  he  knew  that  she  belonged  to  him,  united  by 
every  law  of  spiritual  and  human  fellowship.  Could 
he  hold  himself?  Was  she  not  opening  her  heart  to 
him? 

Mr.  Gilbert's  voice  came  through  the  open  door. 
"I  should  like  to  speak  to  him  for  just  a  minute,  Mrs. 
Curtis." 

"Why,  he  took  the  afternoon  train  to  New  York, 
Mr.  Gilbert." 

"To  New  York !"  The  voice  was  sharp  with  excite- 
ment. "I — I  did  not  expect  him  to  leave  until  to- 
morrow !" 

But  Clara  did  not  notice  his  exclamation.  She  was 
speaking  to  Richard  Locke.  "Will  you  let  me  come 
back  again?"  she  said. 

As  though  he  had  called  her  to  him,  Elizabeth 
stepped  close  to  Locke's  side,  and  Clara  seemed  to  be 
addressing  both  of  them. 

"Have  you  or  Rhodin  ever  been  absent  from  my 
thought?"  he  answered — "or  from  the  heart  of  God?" 

As  he  spoke  he  felt  Elizabeth  lean  toward  him.  He 
dared  not  look  at  her,  but  the  incense  of  her  presence 
filled  him. 

"We  shall  be  late,  Mr.  Gilbert,  if  we  don't  hurry," 
he  said,  with  gleaming  eyes. 

But  he  spoke  twice  before  the  banker  heard  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE 

WHEN  Locke  awoke  the  next  morning  he  knew 
that  something  wonderful  had  happened.  His 
spirit  was  leaping  like  a  boy's.  Whatever  misunder- 
standing there  may  have  been,  he  knew  that  Elizabeth 
loved  him.  Moreover,  Clara  had  come  back,  and  it 
would  mean  the  winning  of  Rhodin  Curtis.  No  wonder 
the  church  bells  were  ringing  and  every  steam  whistle 
in  the  city  was  screaming  in  wild  jubilation ! 

Two  automobiles  went  past  the  parsonage  together; 
their  horns  were  honking  wildly.  He  heard  a  brass 
band  farther  down  the  street,  and  a  crowd  of  boys  with 
tin  horns  across  the  way.  It  was  exactly  fitting  and 
right! — and  yet,  wasn't  it  a  little  unusual,  all  this 
noise  and  shouting  at  a  quarter  past  six  on  Monday 
morning? 

A  boy  with  the  Gazette  was  yelling  underneath  his 
window.  "War  z'over — Armustuss  signed!"  Locke 
leaped  to  the  floor.  He  laughed  aloud.  No  wonder  his 
own  victory  had  come.  What  could  keep  the  bells  from 
ringing?  It  was  God's  day  for  the  world! 

He  hurried  through  his  bath  and  dressed  quickly. 
Certain  lines  that  he  had  read  were  hurling  themselves 
at  him.  He  knew  that  they  exactly  expressed  what 
his  spirit  was  shouting,  but  the  words  eluded  him.  As 

307 


308      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

soon  as  he  could  get  the  volume  in  his  hands,  he  turned 
to  them — the  last  lines  that  Mr.  Longfellow  ever  wrote : 

"O  Bells  of  San  Bias,  in  vain 
Ye  call  back  the  Past  again! 

The  Past  is  deaf  to  your  prayer: 
Out  of  the  Shadows  of  night 
The  world  rolls  into  light; 

It  is  daybreak  everywhere." 

The  early  delivery  brought  a  short  note  from 
Rhodin  Curtis.  The  postmark  showed  that  it  had 
been  mailed  Sunday  afternoon.  Locke  read  it  with 
consternation. 

DICK: 

•You  will  receive  this  Monday  morning.  Please  call  up  Gilbert 
without  delay  and  make  an  appointment  to  see  him  and  Kennedy 
the  moment  the  bank  opens.  Protect  Clara.  That  is  my  one 
prayer.  As  for  me — forget  me! 

R.  C. 

As  Locke  lifted  the  desk  telephone  his  hand  trembled. 
Gilbert's  voice  came  across  the  wire  with  a  sharp 
metallic  ring. 

"Certainly — I'll  be  there  at  nine  o'clock.  Kennedy 
has  just  been  talking  to  me;  he  mentioned  your  name. 
I  supposed  you're  both  coming  on  the  same  business." 

When  Locke  reached  the  bank  the  janitor  was  just 
hanging  a  freshly  lettered  card  at  the  main  entrance: 
"Bank  Closed — Armistice  Holiday"  He  entered  by 
the  side  door  and  went  directly  to  the  president's  room. 
James  Gilbert  was  sitting  sternly  at  his  desk.  A  large 
envelope  and  a  number  of  papers  were  before  him. 
Sanford  Kennedy  was  excitedly  pacing  the  floor. 

"Thank  God  the  bank  is  closed  to-day,*9  said  the 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE         309 

merchant.  "There  won't  be  any  clerks  to  wonder  what 
we're  talking  about." 

"They'll  have  plenty  to  wonder  at  to-morrow,"  said 
Gilbert  with  a  dark  frown.  "How  much  do  you  know 
about  this,  Dr.  Locke?" 

"Nothing — tell  me !"  answered  Locke  with  sickening 
foreboding. 

"Curtis  has  robbed  the  bank  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars  and  absconded." 

Locke  dropped  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face. 
He  knew  that  Kennedy  was  saying  something  in  a  low, 
angry  voice,  but  his  own  brain  was  whirling  and  he 
heard  nothing.  When  he  looked  up  again  the  merchant 
had  taken  a  seat  at  the  president's  desk.  The  creases 
in  his  face  were  deep  with  anguish. 

"Not  another  word,  Kennedy,  and  if  Curtis  has 
asked  Dr.  Locke  to  come  here  on  a  similar  plea,  he  may 
as  well  save  his  breath.  This  bank  will  not  compound 
a  felony." 

Locke  flushed.  "I  have  told  you,  Mr.  Gilbert,  that  I 
know  nothing  of  this.  I  received  a  note  from  Curtis 
asking  me  to  see  you  at  the  bank,  nothing  more." 

"Did  he  not  make  some  plea  for  leniency?  Did  he 
not  ask  that  the  crime  be  covered  up?" 

"He  asked  that  his  wife  might  be  protected." 

"Exactly — he  wants  us  to  protect  the  woman  whom 
he  would  not  protect  himself!  The  criminal  asks  us 
to  shield  his  good  name  while  he  walks  out  lifting  up  his 
head !  I  tell  you  it  can't  be  done !" 

Sanford  Kennedy's  fist  struck  the  mahogany  desk. 
"And  I  tell  you  that  Caleb  Heustis's  daughter  and  her 
little  yellow-haired  boy  are  free  from  guilt.  If  you 


310      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

drag  them  into  the  dirt,  God's  everlasting  curse  will  be 
upon  you!" 

James  Gilbert's  stern  face  did  not  relax,  but  a  look 
of  anxiety  crept  into  his  eyes. 

"Did  he  leave  no  explanation,  nothing  to  help  you 
understand  this  horrible  thing?"  asked  Locke.  The 
president  pushed  a  letter  toward  him,  but  said  nothing. 

Locke  read: 

November  10,  1918. 
MB.  GILBERT: 

I  have  stopped  at  the  bank  for  a  few  moments  to  lay  these 
papers  on  your  desk  and  to  write  this  short  explanation.  I  am 
sending  brief  notes,  also,  to  Dr.  Locke  and  Mr.  Kennedy,  who, 
I  hope,  will  be  able  to  confer  with  you  to-morrow  morning.  I  say 
"explanation."  I  am  not  deceiving  myself.  I  am  perfectly  aware 
of  the  legal  designation  of  my  act.  By  "explanation"  I  simply 
mean  the  making  plain  to  you  just  how  the  matter  developed. 
This  it  is  your  right  to  know.  If  you  will  read  the  accompanying 
papers  in  their  order  the  case  will  become  entirely  clear. 

I  have  nothing  to  say — certainly  I  have  no  desire  to  palliate  an 
illegal  act.  That  both  Mr.  Kennedy  and  the  bank  have  been  pro- 
tected every  minute  merely  suggests  that  it  has  not  been  my  habit 
to  profit  at  the  risk  of  my  friends.  The  insurance  policy  will  not 
be  valid,  therefore  I  am  asking  you  to  pay  the  King  &  Kennedy 
extension  out  of  Rockway  &  Company's  draft.  If  I  may  ask  one 
favor,  please  cancel  the  mortgage  on  the  Park  Road  property  by 
paying  the  principal  sum  with  full  interest  to  Carberry  &  Gridley. 
The  balance  of  the  Rockway  draft  will  provide  amply  for  Mrs. 
Curtis  and  my  son.  I  have  no  debts. 

I  am  perfectly  aware  of  what  your  judgment  will  be,  and  what 
you  will  conceive  it  your  duty  to  do.  I  therefore  am  relieving  you 
of  a  painful  duty  so  far  as  I  myself  am  concerned.  It  is  impossible 
to  save  Clara  from  grief,  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  she  should 
think  of  me  with  shame  and  horror.  For  her  innocent  sake  and 
for  my  boy's  sake,  I  beg  one  undeserved  favor — oblivion. 

Brooks  and  the  head  accountant  are  aware  that  I  am  leaving 
for  New  York  as  already  arranged  with  yourself.  The  bank  force 
need  not  know  that  I  am  not  coming  back  until  the  inevitable  news 
reaches  them  from — no  matter  where;  I  shall  not  perplex  you.  I 
recommend  Brooks  for  advancement;  he  is  most  efficient.  It  is 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE 

needless  for  me  to  tell  you  that  the  bank  cash  and  the  accounts 
are  in  perfect  order. 

RHODIX  CURTIS. 

Locke  lifted  burning  eyes.  "Do  you  call  this  the 
letter  of  a  criminal,  Mr.  Gilbert?" 

"He  used  bank  funds  for  personal  speculation,  Dr. 
Locke,  and  that's  enough  for  me."  The  president 
spoke  with  bitterness,  but  Kennedy  interrupted  him. 

"I  want  to  go  over  these  papers  again.  I  only 
glanced  at  them  before  Dr.  Locke  came  in.  Let's  give 
poor  Rhody  a  man's  chance,  Gilbert ;  he  would  do  twice 
that  for  one  of  us."  The  merchant's  glasses  were  far 
too  blurred  to  see,  so  Locke  read  the  papers  aloud 
while  James  Gilbert  nursed  his  feeling  of  outraged 
confidence. 

First  came  Passmore's  letter  of  the  preceding  May 
recommending  the  investment  in  Mexican  Petroleum 
and  mentioning  Gilbert  by  name. 

"Insolence!"  he  muttered. 

"Not  at  all,  Gilbert, — legitimate,  high-grade  sales- 
manship," answered  Kennedy.  "Passmore  knew  how 
Rhody  respected  your  financial  judgment." 

Then  followed  the  record  of  the  mortgage  on  the 
Park  Road  property  and  a  receipt  from  Rockway  & 
Company  for  $20,000,  margin  paid  on  1,000  shares  of 
stock.  In  June  there  was  a  sales  slip  for  $14,000, 
Coordinated  Copper,  and  a  receipt  for  this  amount, 
margin  on  700  more  shares  of  Mexican  Petroleum. 

"Straight  as  a  string  so  far!"  said  the  merchant, 
watching  Locke  through  his  glasses. 

Then  came  Passmore's  letter  the  31st  of  August, 
showing  it  had  been  Rhodin's  intention  to  sell  his  hold- 


312      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

ings  at  a  fair  profit  and  withdraw.  The  fascinating 
lure  of  wealth  and  the  second  mention  of  Gilbert's  name 
were  not  overlooked. 

"I  grant  you,  Gilbert,  the  fellow  was  insolent — but 
he  knew  that  you  had  been  badly  bitten  by  the  Mexican 
microbe  and  Curtis  would  be  more  sure  to  catch  it  if  he 
mentioned  you." 

The  president  bit  his  lips  and  Kennedy  continued. 

"Think  of  it,  man,  selling  Pennsylvania  Railway 
stock  on  a  gamble!  It  simply  shows  that  you  were 
money  mad,  and  I'm  just  fool  enough  to  tell  you  so ! 
As  a  conservative  banker,  would  you  advise  a  public 
trust  company  to  sell  Pennsylvania  Stock  and  buy 
foreign  oil,  even  if  it  were  climbing  to  the  sky?" 

A  slow  red  overspread  the  banker's  face.  "I'm  not 
used  to  being  rated  in  my  own  office,  Mr.  Kennedy,  and 
I'll  not  take  it!" 

"I  don't  care  what  you're  used  to,  James  Gilbert! 
We're  here  to  find  out  why  a  strong  man  fell  to  his 
death,  and  as  there's  a  God  in  heaven  I'll  speak  my 
mind !  Go  on,  Dr.  Locke,  read  the  next  paper."  The 
merchant's  eyes  were  blazing  and  his  strong  hands 
clutched  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

Locke  read  a  copy  of  King  &  Kennedy's  letter  to 
extend  the  loan,  then  came  Rhodin's  letter  of  September 
third  to  Mr.  Kennedy.  He  paused  here,  for  Sanford 
Kennedy  was  leaning  forward. 

"Read  that  letter  again,"  he  said  in  a  low  tense 
voice. 

As  Locke  read  the  frank,  open  letter,  written  at  the 
Hamilton  Hotel,  his  voice  broke  and  he  saw  Rhodin  as 
he  had  seen  him  that  night,  caught  in  the  remorseless 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE         313 

current  of  covetousness.  He  remembered  the  un- 
bridled conversation  at  the  committee  dinner  that  must 
have  carried  him  even  farther  than  he  himself  had 
dared  to  go.  James  Gilbert  also  remembered.  The 
angry  flush  disappeared  from  his  face  and  a  look  of 
uneasy  questioning  was  in  his  eyes. 

But  Sanford  Kennedy's  head  drooped  upon  the  desk 
and  groan  after  groan  broke  from  him.  "Mine  was 
the  hand  that  threw  him  down!  He  told  me  of  my 
blunder  in  his  fine,  straightforward  way — and  I 
laughed  while  he  stood  upon  the  brink!  O  God,  lay 
not  this  sin  to  his  charge,  but  visit  the  transgression 
upon  thine  unfaithful  steward !" 

And  then  it  all  came  out — his  written  instructions  to 
extend  the  loan,  the  late  remittance,  and  his  irregular 
coming  to  the  cashier's  desk  after  banking  hours.  He 
told  of  Rhodin's  kindness  and  of  his  own  negligence  in 
handing  him  a  misdrawn  check. 

"And  all  the  time  this  tempting  offer  from  Passmore 
must  have  been  like  fire  in  his  blood !"  said  Locke.  "I 
tell  you  we  were  not  true  to  him — not  one  of  us!  I 
make  no  plea  for  Rhodin  Curtis.  It  was  his  business 
to  spurn  the  whole  devilish  affair,  but  I  say  this — he 
had  the  right  to  look  to  us  for  help,  rather  than 
hindrance ;  and  now,  at  whatever  cost,  we  must  find  him 
and  bring  him  back." 

The  flush  returned  to  the  banker's  face,  but  there 
was  no  anger  in  the  look  he  gave  his  pastor.  Sanford 
Kennedy  reached  his  hand  across  the  desk.  "Forgive 
me,  James,  for  even  seeming  to  condemn  you.  During 
all  these  years  you  have  warned  me  against  my  careless- 
ness, and  now  the  curse  of  it  has  come  upon  me.  God 


314      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

only  knows  what  temptations  I  have  placed  in  the  way 
of  thoughtless  clerks  and  stenographers.  0,  Rhody, 
Rhody  —  to  think  I  gave  you  the  weapon  with  which 
you  destroyed  yourself!"  and  the  merchant  laid  his 
head  upon  his  arm  and  groaned  again.  James  Gil- 
bert did  not  answer  him.  His  face  had  become  set 
and  white. 

Meantime  Richard  Locke  had  picked  up  the  last 
sheet.  It  was  a  statement  from  Rockway  &  Company. 
A  New  York  draft  was  pinned  to  the  letter.  Locke 
read  the  items  with  a  fascinated  gaze. 

Rhodin  Curtis  in  Account  with  Rockway  &  Company  —  New 
York  City. 

May  28,  Bo't  1,000  Shares  Mex  Pete  at 

90y8     ................................  $  90,875.00 

Commission  at   %    ...........          125.00 

91,000.00 
Less  Margin  paid  ............     20,000.00 

Bal.  due  broker  this  transaction  ..  $  71,000.00 

June  18  Bo't  700  Shares  Mex  Pete  at  95y8     66,587.50 
Commission  at   ya    ...........  87.50 

66,675.00 
Less  Margin  paid  ............     14,000.00 

Bal.  due  broker  this  transaction  .  .  .  52,675.00 

Sep.  3  Bo't  1,800  Shares  Mex  Pete  at  102  .  183,600.00 
Commission  at  %   ............         225.00 

183,825.00 
Less  Margin  paid  ............     20,000.00 

BaL  due  broker  this  transaction  .  .  .  163,825.00 

Nov.  7  Sold  3,500  Shares  Mex  Pete  at  173  605,500.00 
Less  Commission  at  %  .......         437.50 


605,062.50 
Less  War  Tax  at  $4  per  hundred        140.00 

604,922.50 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE         315 


Carried  forward   

Int.  on  $71,000  May  29  to  Nov.  8  at  6%  .  1,902.41 

Int.  on  $52,675  June  19  to  Nov.  8  at  6%  .  1,316.15 

Int.  on  $163,825  Sept.  4  to  Nov.  8  at  6%  .  1,723.52 


Total  Cost  3,500  Shares  as  above 


Add  dividend  in  July  on  1,700  shares  at 
2% 

Our  Certified  Draft  inclosed  herewith  . . 


$604,922.50 


4,942.08 

$599,980.42 
341,500.00 

$258,480.42 

3,400.00 

$261,880.42 


NOTE:  These  quotations  are  accurately  taken  from  New  York 
Stock  Reports  of  "Mex  Pete"  for  1918,  and  the  figures  for 
"Rhodin  Curtis's  deal"  are  furnished  by  a  responsible  New  York 
broker.— H.  R.  C. 

Locke's  eyes  reached  the  amazing  total  that  had 
lured  his  friend  and  then  rested  on  the  certified  draft 
that  lay  crisply  across  the  statement — an  order  to  pay 
to  Rhodin  Curtis  $261,880.42.  He  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "do  you  realize  that  Rho  Curtis  is 
at  this  moment  under  the  horror  of  this  thing?  He 
leaves  his  wife,  his  child,  his  fortune  in  our  hands — 
but  what  shall  become  of  that  home  if  husband  and 
father  comes  not  back  again?  What  shall  become  of 
us  if  we  are  faithless  stewards  of  this  man's  soul? 
Even  now  it  may  be  too  late !  While  we  sit  here  indulg- 
ing in  vain  regrets,  the  pitiless  storm  is  beating  upon 
him,  if,  indeed,  his  anguished  spirit  has  not  already 
slipped  over  the  edge  of  the  abyss !" 

James  Gilbert  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "My 
God — I've  driven  him  to  his  death !" 


316      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

There  was  tense  silence. 

Presently  Sanford  Kennedy  lifted  up  his  head.  His 
eyes  were  quiet  and  restful. 

"No,  James,  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said.  "Rhody 
wouldn't  do  it — at  least  not  yet.  Something  tells  me 
he'll  come  back  to  us  again." 

"But  we  must  act,"  said  Locke,  imperiously.  "We 
must  do  something — instantly!  Would  he  have  gone 
to  New  York,  Mr.  Gilbert?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Then  I  shall  follow  him  at  once." 

"We  could  wire  the  bank's  eastern  correspondents 
and—" 

"And  drive  him  to  some  desperate  act !"  interrupted 
Locke.  "He  would  mistake  the  purpose  of  our  in- 
quiry, and  explanation  to  any  human  being  except  him- 
self would  defeat  our  whole  purpose.  This  sin  of 
Rhodin  Curtis  shall  never  be  mentioned  outside  of  this 
room.  It  is  our  promise  to  God  and  to  each  other." 

As  the  three  men  clasped  hands  Richard  Locke 
poured  out  his  soul  in  intercession,  and  Gilbert's 
trembling  lips  echoed  every  petition.  But  the 
merchant  stood  with  his  eyes  open  and  his  head  lifted. 

"God  has  heard  your  prayer,  Richard,"  he  said. 
"He's  with  us,  and  he's  with  Rhody — and  he  will  hold 
him  safe  until  we  find  him.  God  guide  your  steps, 
my  faithful  pastor!"  and  the  merchant  laid  his  hands 
upon  him  in  silent  benediction. 

Locke  looked  at  his  watch.  "Number  two  leaves  in 
fifty  minutes.  I'll  have  time  to  catch  it;  it  connects 
with  the  night  express  at  Pittsburgh.  Have  you  a 
list  of  your  eastern  correspondents?" 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  ARMISTICE         317 

The  banker  took  a  type-written  sheet  from  his  file. 
"These  are  our  confidential  correspondents  in  New 
York  City,"  he  said.  "I'll  wire  you  the  completed  list. 
You'll  need  expense  money,  and  plenty  of  it." 

He  opened  a  small  safe  back  of  his  chair  and  took 
out  a  sheaf  of  bills.  "This  is  not  the  bank's  affair;  it 
is  a  trust  committed  to  me  alone.  Here  are  a  thousand 
dollars.  Spare  no  expense.  Make  a  sight  draft 
against  me  for  any  amount — only  bring  him  back  with 
you."  James  Gilbert's  eyes  filled  as  Locke  shook 
hands  with  both  men  and  left  the  room. 

Miss  Winthrop  took  his  suddenly  announced  journey 
with  her  usual  equanimity  and  had  his  clean  linen  laid 
out  for  him  in  two  minutes. 

"You  must  take  a  heavier  suit  of  underwear, 
Richard,"  she  said.  "New  York  is  on  the  coast,  remem- 
ber." As  it  turned  out  he  was  grateful  for  his  aunt's 
thoughtfulness,  but  not  for  the  reason  that  she  had 
named. 

He  had  time  to  call  Rhodin's  'phone  before  he  left, 
and  ask  in  cheery  tones  for  the  last  word  from  the 
sick  room. 

"I'm  leaving  for  New  York,"  he  said,  "and  expect  to 
see  Rho.  What  word  shall  I  give  him?" 

"Our  love,  our  love,  Dr.  Locke !"  came  Clara's  happy 
voice.  "Tell  him  that  Arthur  is  sitting  by  the  window 
watching  the  automobiles  go  by  and  counting  the  hours 
until  he  shall  see  his  father — and  tell  him  my  heart  is 
overflowing  with  the  new  joy  that  we  shall  share  to- 
gether." 

Twenty  minutes  later  Locke  stepped  aboard  number 
two,  eastward  bound. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
VANISHING  CLEWS 

WHEN  Richard  Locke  stopped  at  the  Pullman 
office    in    the    Pittsburgh    railway    station    to 
secure  his  sleeping  reservation  for  New  York,  the  clerk 
looked  at  him  sharply. 

"Is  this  Dr.  Richard  Locke?" 

"Yes." 

"Urgent  wire  waiting  for  you,  sir." 

Locke  opened  the  envelope  and  read : 

"Reliable  information  your  brother  in  Chicago  Mon- 
day morning.  Full  letter  will  await  you  Great  North- 
ern Hotel." 

The  message  had  been  dispatched  from  his  own  home 
city  and  although  it  bore  no  signature  Locke  instantly 
recogni2ed  its  import.  The  sagacious  banker  was  giv- 
ing him  explicit  information  without  publishing  any 
names.  He  hastened  to  the  ticket  window. 

"Chicago,"  he  said  tersely,  then  waited  impatiently 
while  two  clerks  fumbled  to  find  the  correct  form.  "I 
must  catch  the  8.15 — please  hurry,"  he  said. 

A  round-faced  man  behind  him  laughed.  "The  pub- 
lic will  have  to  wait  while  the  Government  learns  its  new 
job  of  running  the  railroads,"  he  said.  "I  reckon  the 
people  are  finding  out  that  public  utilities  are  a  public 
trust." 

318 


VANISHING  CLEWS  319 

Locke  turned,  "Are  you  a  preacher  or  a  lawyer?" 
he  asked,  smiling. 

"Neither.  I  sell  pig-iron,  but  I  can  see  a  hole  through 
a  ladder!  The  first  condition  of  good  stewardship  is 
responsibility,  and  responsibility  is  always  personal. 
You  can't  shoulder  it  off  on  some  woozy  thing  called 
'society.'  Community  life  is  worthless  unless  personal 
responsibility  is — " 

But  Locke  lost  the  rest  of  it.  He  had  his  ticket  in 
his  hand  and  was  running  for  the  gate  as  the  west 
bound  express  was  called  for  the  last  time.  By  great 
good  fortune  he  was  able  to  secure  an  upper  berth — 
the  last  one.  He  drowsed  off  about  midnight  and 
dreamed  that  he  saw  John  Roberts'  solitary  figure  mov- 
ing out  into  a  desert  road.  There  was  neither  tree  nor 
shrub,  and  the  vertical  sun  beat  upon  him  pitilessly. 
A  glory  was  about  him  and  the  deep-set  eyes  seemed 
to  behold  One  who  is  invisible.  Locke  tried  to  reach 
him,  but  the  figure  faded.  He  awoke  with  a  sense  of 
awe  and  isolation. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning  the  train 
pulled  into  that  ancient  ruin  humorously  known  as 
the  Chicago  Union  Station.  He  took  a  taxi  to  the 
Great  Northern  Hotel. 

As  he  expected,  a  letter  from  Gilbert  awaited  him. 
One  of  the  bank's  clients,  the  letter  said,  had  lunched 
with  him  and  happened  to  mention  that  he  had  chatted 
with  Rhodin  at  the  railway  station  on  Sunday  after- 
noon. Rhodin  had  boarded  the  west-bound  passenger 
train.  His  destination  might  be  Saint  Louis;  more 
probably  it  was  Chicago.  It  seemed  certain  that  he 
had  not  gone  to  New  York.  He  inclosed  a  list  of  the 


320      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Chicago  banks  where  Rhodin  was  known  and  suggested 
two  financial  houses  in  La  Salle  Street  where  he  would 
do  well  to  start  his  inquiry. 

His  first  call  was  fruitless,  but  the  second  was  full  of 
encouragement. 

"Is  not  Mr.  Curtis  cashier  of  one  of  the  banks  in 

?"  and  the  vice-president's  secretary,  to  whom  he 

had  been  referred,  mentioned  Locke's  home  city. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  he  was  here  yesterday  about  noon,  and  went 
out  to  lunch  with  Mr.  Hamerton." 

"Do  you  know  whether  or  not  Mr.  Curtis  has  left 
the  city?" 

"I  understand  that  he  has.  He  was  in  conference 
with  Mr.  Hamerton  concerning  certain  interests  of  his 
in  the  south — Mexico,  I  think." 

Locke  started.     "May  I  see  Mr.  Hamerton?" 

"I'm  sorry,  he  was  called  to  Aurora  last  evening  and 
will  not  be  back  until  eleven-thirty." 

"I  will  see  him  at  that  time  if  he  can  make  it  con- 
venient. It  is  a  matter  of  rather  urgent  importance. 
Will  you  kindly  hand  him  my  card  and  ask  him  to 
reserve  ten  minutes  for  me?" 

"Certainly." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  pass  the  two  hours  as 
best  he  could.  He  walked  over  to  Michigan  Boulevard 
and  spent  an  hour  in  the  Art  Institute.  Then  he 
looked  out  over  the  waste  of  reclaimed  land,  and 
wondered  how  soon  Burnham's  dream  of  the  "City 
Beautiful"  would  be  realized.  He  spent  much  time  in 
studying  Lorenzo  Taft's  exquisite  bronze,  "The  Great 
Lakes." 


VANISHING  CLEWS  321 

At  eleven-thirty  he  was  again  in  La  Salle  Street. 
The  secretary  met  him. 

"I  am  sorry  to  inform  you,"  he  said,  "that  Mr. 
Hamerton  has  been  detained  in  Aurora  and  will  not 
reach  the  bank  until  nearly  three  o'clock." 

Locke  frowned.  "Is  there  no  way  that  I  can  get  in 
touch  with  him?" 

"I  might  be  able  to  get  him  on  'long-distance.'  " 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  be  very  grateful." 

In  five  minutes  the  secretary  returned.  "Mr.  Ham- 
erton already  has  left  Aurora,"  he  said.  "He  is  com- 
ing part  way  by  auto,  but  I  am  sure  he  will  be  here 
before  three  o'clock.  I  will  give  him  your  card  the 
moment  he  arrives." 

Locke  was  in  a  fever  of  distress,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  done.  Hamerton  had  seen  Rhodin  less  than 
twenty-four  hours  before  and  had  spent  an  hour  or  two 
with  him.  Undoubtedly  he  could  tell  something  of  his 
probable  movements.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done. 
He  must  wait. 

He  returned  to  the  Great  Northern  and  wrote  a  brief 
letter  to  Gilbert.  As  soon  as  he  finished  it  he  tore  it  to 
shreds.  What  folly !  He  had  absolutely  nothing  to 
report.  He  ate  a  light  lunch,  then  sat  in  the  lobby  and 
looked  at  the  clock. 

At  twenty  minutes  to  three  he  again  inquired  for  Mr. 
Hamerton,  and  breathed  easily — the  vice-president 
would  be  able  to  see  him  in  five  minutes.  He  found 
himself  presently  standing  beside  the  desk  of  a  large 
gentleman  with  a  bald  head. 

"I  understand,  Mr.  Locke,"  began  the  vice-president 
directly,  "that  you  have  been  inquiring  for  Mr.  Corliss 


322      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

of  your  city.  We  took  lunch  together  yesterday,  and 
I  shall  be  glad  to  give  you  any  information  that  is 
proper.  Our  cashier  had  a  wire  from  him  this  morn- 
ing. Won't  you  be  seated?" 

Locke's  heart  leaped.  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Hamerton. 
I  appreciate  this  greatly — only  you  have  made  a  slight 
error  in  pronouncing  the  name.  It  is  Mr.  Curtis  that 
I  am  wanting,"  and  he  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  desk.  At 
last  he  had  found  a  clew. 

"Do  you  mean  Rhodin  Curtis  of  the  City  National?" 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Hamerton  laughed.  "No  mistake  at  this  end! 
1  know  Mr.  Curtis  very  well;  he  is  our  regular  corre- 
spondent, though  it  has  been  several  months  since  I 
saw  him.  It  was  Henry  Corliss  whom  I  saw  yesterday 
— Corliss  of  the  Second  National." 

Locke  looked  at  him  blankly  with  a  heavy  sinking  of 
his  heart.  He  had  wasted  six  hours  for — this ! 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,  to  have  disappointed  you.  I — I 
hope  Mr.  Curtis  is  well."  The  vice-president  looked  at 
him  curiously.  Instantly  Locke  was  on  guard. 

"I  am  the  one  who  should  apologize  for  having  taken 
your  time,  Mr.  Hamerton.  Consonants  are  rather  im- 
portant members  of  the  alphabet !  I  know  Mr.  Corliss, 
of  the  Second  National,  and  one  would  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  distinguishing  the  two  men  apart."  With  a 
cordial  word  of  appreciation  Locke  withdrew.  As  he 
passed  out  into  La  Salle  Street  the  Board  of  Trade 
clock  struck  three.  The  day  was  nearly  over  and  he 
had  accomplished  nothing.  What  had  these  six  hours 
meant  to  Rhodin  Curtis?  His  heart  contracted  with 
fear. 


VANISHING  CLEWS  323 

As  he  walked  east  in  Adams  Street  a  half-hinted  sug- 
gestion of  the  morning  came  back  to  him.  Had 
Rhodin  any  "interests"  that  would  turn  his  thought  in 
any  direction?  He  remembered  the  draft  for  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  million  that  lay  on  Mr.  Gilbert's 
desk.  Could  he  have  watched  the  spectacular  advance 
of  Mexican  Petroleum  without  having  been  drawn 
toward  the  sources  of  his  sudden  wealth.  At  least  it 
would  not  be  amiss  to  follow  this  clew. 

He  stepped  into  the  city  ticket  office  of  the  Illinois 
Central  Railway,  and  inquired  concerning  winter  rates 
to  some  of  the  southern  cities. 

"The  fact  is,  I'm  interested  in  Mexico  City.  Is 
there  any  chance  of  getting  through?" 

"O,  yes,  you  can  get  through  all  right;  only  we 
can't  sell  you  anything  further  than  the  Rio.  The 
mix-up  down  there  has  demoralized  the  railway 
service." 

"Is  there  much  transportation  to  the  border?" 

"Not  much — two  or  three  a  week.  Sold  one  ticket 
yesterday." 

"I  wonder  if  it  could  have  been  an  acquaintance  of 
mine  who  has  been  interested  in  Mexican  oil;  I've  had 
a  notion  he  might  take  a  run  down  there.  What  sort 
of  an  appearing  man  was  he?" 

The  clerk  looked  at  him.  "What's  the  game, 
brother  ?  Has  he  robbed  the  collection  plates  ?" 

Locke  flushed,  but  the  clerk  smiled  at  him  good- 
naturedly. 

"There's  no  use  getting  warm  over  it,  padre;  I 
reckon  you're  a  better  preacher  than  you  are  detec- 
tive !  I  like  you  all  right,  and  if  you'll  tell  me  straight 


324      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

what  you  want  I'll  help  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 
If  not — good  night!" 

Locke  reached  out  his  hand  and  laughed.  "You're 
the  captain!  I  never  knew  how  to  get  things  by  in- 
direction, and  I'm  too  old  to  learn.  How  did  you 
know  I  was  a  preacher?" 

"How  do  you  know  the  'Seminole  Limited'?  Say, 
brother,  what  jay  are  you  trying  to  get  a  line  on? — 
has  he  run  away  with  the  church  funds?" 

Locke  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  "You  answered  me 
straight — now  let  me  answer  you !  I'm  not  a  detective. 
I'm  a  preacher.  I'm  not  trying  to  jail  a  man,  but 
save  him.  Have  I  the  right  to  tell  you  anything? 
Would  you  if  you  were  a  preacher?" 

The  clerk  thought  a  minute.  "You've  got  the  right 
dope,  sir,  and  I'll  .stand  by  that  kind  of  a  preacher 
from  here  to  hades!  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know.  This 
chap  was  about  your  height,  but  a  little  heavier  build. 
He  had  dark  hair  and  eyes  and  a  close  trimmed 
moustache.  He  had  a  sad-looking  face,  as  though  he 
had  lost  every  friend  he  had  and  his  hope  of  heaven 
besides.  Does  that  tally,  brother?" 

Locke's  eyes  were  burning.  "Where  was  he  going?" 
he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

The  clerk  turned  to  the  ticket  rack  behind  him  and 
ran  his  finger  down  a  spindle  file  holding  detached 
ticket  stubs.  "I  sold  him  coupon  ticket  number  3256, 
to  Laredo;  but  from  the  questions  he  asked  I'm  sure 
he  intends  to  go  through  to  Mexico  City." 

"Can  you  get  a  wire  to  him  ?" 

"Sure,  he's  on  number  four.  Spiel  it  out  and  I'll 
get  him  for  you  before  six  o'clock." 


VANISHING  CLEWS  325 

Locke  thought  a  moment,  then  wrote  out  the  follow- 
ing telegram: 

Ticket  Holder  3256, 
Train  Number  Four, 

En  Route,  Laredo,  Texas. 

Consultation  yesterday.  Perfect  understanding  assured.  All 
say  come  home.  Clara  waiting  for  you.  Where  shall  I  meet  you? 
Wire  immediate.  Great  Northern  Hotel. 

RICHARD  LOCKE. 

The  clerk  read  it.  "Right  you  are!  I'll  put  it 
through  'Rush.'  If  he's  as  good  a  sport  as  you  are, 
Clara  will  see  him  before  Sunday." 

Locke  thanked  him  and  then  bought  a  mileage  ticket 
and  reservation  as  far  as  Memphis,  ready  to  leave  at 
nine  o'clock. 

"You'll  hear  before  eight,  all  right.  Good  luck, 
padre!  If  I  knew  where  you  were  going  to  preach, 
I'd  walk  across  the  city  to  hear  you." 

Locke  went  direct  to  the  hotel  and  notified  the  desk 
clerk  that  he  was  expecting  an  important  telegram. 
Then  he  sat  and  waited.  At  dinner  he  took  a  small 
table  near  the  door,  and  listened  with  every  nerve 
attent.  What  if  the  answer  should  not  come  before 
nine?  How  could  he  spend  another  night  in  such  un- 
certainty. 

About  half  past  seven  he  was  looking  through 
the  railway  time  tables  as  he  stood  in  the  lobby  of 
the  hotel.  His  traveling  bag  was  at  his  feet.  He 
heard  his  name  called  and  a  page  came  running  toward 
him.  The  answer  had  arrived  in  time — a  dollar  "tip" 
was  small  return  for  such  a  service !  He  tore  open  the 
envelope  and  read: 


326      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Ticket  holder  3256  joined  at  Memphis  by  lady  and  two  children. 
Indignantly  denies  imputation.    Name  Saunders. 

CHARLES  JACKSON 

Conductor. 


Richard  Locke  did  not  know  why  he  stood  there 
nor  how  long  he  had  been  standing.  He  was  stunned. 
He  could  not  think.  He  only  knew  that  he  was  help- 
less and  all  but  hopeless.  What  possible  turn  could 
he  make?  Should  he  advertise  in  the  morning  papers? 
Should  he  notify  the  police?  How  could  he  go  back 
to  Clara  Curtis? 

"O  God,"  he  groaned,  "help  me!" 

Absently  he  fingered  the  time  tables.  West — east — 
south — north — which  way  should  he  go?  Suddenly 
he  found  himself  breathing  fast.  He  was  perceiving 
something — he  did  not  know  what.  Something  within 
him  was  alert.  And  then  it  came  to  him. 

He  was  looking  at  a  "Summer  Tourist"  folder  that 
he  had  picked  from  the  back  of  the  case.  It  was  three 
months  out  of  date. 

WHY  STIFLE  IN  THE  CITY? 

THE  LAKES  OF  NORTHERN  MICHIGAN 

AWAIT  YOU! 

With  one  fierce  burst  of  illumination  he  knew  where 
he  would  find  Rhodin  Curtis.  In  one  flash  it  was 
before  him — the  undulating  shimmer  of  reeds  and 
water  lilies  and  the  stark  horror  in  Rhodin's  eyes. 
There  was  only  one  question  now:  Would  he  be  in 
time? 

"Boy — a   taxi — quick!"  he  called. 


VANISHING  CLEWS  327 

He  had  ten  minutes  to  reach  the  Twelfth  Street 
Station.  But  it  was  enough.  When  the  night  train 
pulled  out  for  Petoskey  he  sat  breathless  and  thankful 
in  the  end  sleeper. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
FLYNN'S  POINT 

ON  arriving  at  Petoskey  the  first  thing  Locke  did 
was  to  find  a  garage. 

"Going  after  ducks?"  asked  the  manager.  "Well, 
you'll  find  them.  I  saw  a  million  last  week  at  the 
south  end  of  Crooked  Lake.  What  size  shell  do  you 
use?" 

Locke  smiled.  "Pm  afraid  I'll  have  to  borrow  a 
gun  from  Captain  Flynn — if  I  do  any  shooting." 

"So  you're  going  to  stop  at  the  Cap'n's,  are  you? 
Then  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  take  a  deposit  in  advance. 
That  old  weasel  won't  leave  much  for  me  when  he  gets 
through  squeezin'  you !"  and  the  manager  chuckled. 

"Maybe  I  can  make  out  to  pay  both  of  you — that 
is,  if  you  don't  want  the  earth.  How  much  will  you 
charge  for  two  or  three  days'  use  of  a  machine?" 

"O,  I  reckon  I  can  let  you  have  one  for  twenty-five 
or  thirty  dollars.  Not  a  new  machine  you  know,  but 
one  of  our  left-overs." 

"That  will  be  satisfactory.  I'll  start  immediately." 
He  examined  the  rusty  looking  roadster  and  took  his 
seat. 

"She's  the  regulation  flivver,  mister,"  said  the 
manager,  folding  up  the  bills  that  Locke  handed  him, 
"but  she'll  carry  you." 

Locke  drew  on  his  gloves.  "Perhaps  the  public 
won't  call  it  a  'flivver'  after  this  week." 

328 


FLYNN'S  POINT  329 

"I  get  you,  mister,  and  you're  dead  right!  She's 
frisked  ammunition  up  to  the  front  line  trenches,  with- 
out ever  stalling  an  engine,  and  she's  carried  our 
wounded  boys  back  from  the  edge  of  the  pit.  I  guess 
she's  entitled  to  the  Distinguished  Service  medal  along 
with  the  Red  Cross.  Good  luck,  mister,  and  a  heavy 
bag!  Take  the  right  turn  this  side  of  Oden." 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  Locke's  car  crept 
up  the  muddy  road  in  front  of  Flynn's  two-story  cabin. 
It  had  been  raining  and  he  blessed  his  aunt's  thought- 
fulness  that  he  was  warmly  clad.  He  had  borrowed 
a  pair  of  blankets  at  the  garage,  which  were  folded 
away  under  the  seat. 

"I  may  need  them  later,"  he  thought,  with  a  nervous 
shudder. 

The  old  man  came  limping  down  the  path  from  the 
kitchen  door.  As  soon  as  he  recognized  Locke  he 
began  to  laugh. 

"I  reckon  I  got  one  on  Rhode  Curtis!"  he  said. 
"He  told  me  n'ary  a  soul  was  comin'  with  him  this 
time." 

Locke  gripped  the  steering  wheel  and  a  mist  came 
over  his  eyes.  He  could  not  speak.  He  could  not 
even  thank  God.  He  was  dumb. 

"Better  unload,  Dr.  Locke,"  the  old  man  ambled  on. 
"No  use  goin'  out  before  dinner." 

"When  did  Mr.  Curtis  get  here,  Captain  Flynn?" 
asked  Locke,  staring  through  the  fringe  of  scrub  oaks 
that  skirted  the  lake.  The  water  looked  leaden  under 
the  November  sky. 

"Monday,  just  before  supper.  He  came  up  from 
Petoskey  on  the  afternoon  train  and  pulled  himself 


330      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

over  from  Oden.  He's  the  darn'dest,  queerest  duck  I 
ever  see!" 

Locke  looked  at  him.  "What  do  you  mean,  Captain  ?" 
he  asked  with  a  quick  beating  of  his  heart.  "He — 
he's  all  right  isn't  he?" 

"O,  he's  alive  and  kickin,'  if  that's  what  you  mean 
— though  how  a  grown  man  expects  to  go  all  day  on 
two  crackers  and  a  cup  o'  coif ee  gets  me !  Then  how 
in  tarnation  is  he  goin'  to  get  wild  ducks  without  a 
gun !  Expect  'em  to  swim  up  and  climb  into  his  boat  ?" 

Captain  Flynn  revolved  a  huge  quid  in  his  mouth 
and  spat  copiously. 

"I  told  him  this  mornin'  he  hadn't  as  much  sense 
as  he  had  when  he  was  ten  years  old !  He  said  he  was 
goin'  to  try  a  little  still  fishin'  in  that  old  punt  you 
used  last  summer.  I  gave  him  one  o'  them  long  pointed 
saplings,  same  as  we  always  use  for  anchoring  a  boat 
in  ten  feet  o'  water.  But  I  see'd  him  about  an  hour 
ago  down  to  your  old  camp,  an'  I'm  darn'd  if  he  hadn't 
throw'd  the  sapling  down  on  the  bank  and  hunted 
around  for  a  boulder  half  as  big  as  a  wash  tub !  It  was 
lyin'  in  the  punt  with  about  fifty  feet  o'  cotton  rope. 
He'll  anchor  his  boat  all  right,  an'  himself  too  if  he 
ain't  keerful." 

Locke  started  his  engine.  "I'll  run  down  to  the 
point  and  give  him  a  hail."  His  face  was  deathly  white. 

"All  right,  that's  where  you'll  find  him.  He's  been 
foolin'  around  the  edge  o'  them  water  lilies  for  two 
days.  I'll  tell  the  old  woman  that  you'll  be  here  for 
dinner." 

The  muddy  road  connected  with  a  rude  landing  at 
the  point.  As  soon  as  Locke  had  gotten  clear  of  the 


FLYNN'S  POINT  331 

trees  he  cast  his  eyes  over  the  sodden  mass  of  green 
that  rested  on  the  surface  of  the  lake.  Out  where  the 
clear  water  began,  but  still  inside  the  line  of  treach- 
erous green,  he  saw  an  old  flat-bottomed  boat.  It  was 
empty. 

Locke  shut  his  eyes  and  dropped  his  head  upon  the 
steering  wheel  before  him.  He  was  not  thinking  of 
Rhodin.  His  mind  at  that  moment  did  not  go  back  to 
Clara.  He  saw  the  agonies  that  were  just  ahead  of  him, 
but  his  only  thought  during  that  first  numb  moment 
was  regret — he  ought  to  have  borrowed  four  blankets 
instead  of  two;  he  was  sure  the  water  was  icy  cold. 

Then  he  sat  up.  "I  must  think,"  he  said.  He  knew 
he  must  get  help,  two  men  at  least.  He  would  decide 

what  to  do  after  they  had  recovered  the  ;  he 

shuddered  and  closed  his  eyes  again.  Then  he  looked 
toward  the  boat  and  recognized  his  first  solemn  duty: 
it  was  to  secure  any  letter  or  message  that  Rhodin 
might  have  left.  This  he  must  do  alone. 

The  landing  was  on  the  south  side  of  the  point;  it 
was  clear  water  here.  He  found  the  captain's  skiff 
and  pushed  out.  His  hands  were  steadier  for  rowing 
and  as  he  drew  near  to  the  punt  he  found  himself  in 
control  of  his  faculties.  He  pulled  alongside  and 
looked  in.  The  bottom  had  been  partly  staved  out 
and  the  reeds  and  water  lilies  had  wrapped  themselves 
about  the  rotting  planks.  It  had  been  lying  there 
for  months. 

Locke's  revulsion  left  him  trembling  and  weak,  and 
he  grasped  the  slimy  edge  of  the  punt  to  steady  him- 
self. Two  days  of  nerve  stretch  had  brought  him 
almost  to  collapse.  But  joy  is  a  quick  restorative. 


332      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"Hold  him,  O  God,  hold  him!"  His  prayer  came  like 
a  chant  of  praise.  He  pushed  himself  free  of  the 
reeds  and  rowed  rapidly  toward  their  old  camp.  He 
turned  his  head  and  looked.  Rhodin  was  standing 
on  the  half  sunken  log  watching  him. 

The  skiff  was  still  a  hundred  yards  from  the  landing 
place  and  it  leaped  through  the  water  under  Locke's 
driving  strokes.  As  he  drew  near  the  log  Rhodin 
leaned  over  and  pulled  the  boat  close  in. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,  Dick,"  he  said,  and  reached 
out  his  hand. 

Locke  looked  at  him.  He  was  unshaven  and  his  face 
was  haggard  with  suffering.  Locke  expected  all  this 
— but  there  was  something  more,  something  that  made 
his  throat  swell  and  his  eyes  fill.  In  Rhodin's  face  was 
the  look  of  a  man  who  has  trodden  the  winepress  alone. 
Locke  laid  his  head  on  Rhodin's  hand  and  wept. 

"Good  old  Dick,  I  knew  you  would  come,"  he  re- 
peated. 

Locke  looked  at  him  again.  Was  this  Rhodin 
Curtis  ?  The  old  masterful  air  was  still  about  him,  but 
into  his  eyes  had  come  an  indescribable  gentleness. 

"Come  up  on  the  bank,  Dick,  and  sit  down." 

Locke  followed  him  and  they  sat  down  together  on 
one  of  the  plank  benches  that  still  remained  from  their 
last  summer's  camp.  A  pale  November  sun  had  pushed 
through  the  clouds. 

"I  know  what  you've  come  to  say  to  me,  Dick,  and 
I  want  to  save  you  everything  I  can.  I'm  going  back." 

"God  bless  you,  Rho!" 

"I've  thought  it  all  through  again,  and  I've  settled 
it.  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  it  will  be  easier  for 


FLYNN'S  POINT  333 

Clara  to  suffer  with  me  than  without  me.  The  thing 
can't  be  covered  up — I  was  a  fool  for  thinking  that 
anything  I  could  do  would  make  the  least  difference. 
It  only  makes  it  harder  for  her." 

"But,  Rho,  you  don't—'" 

"Let  me  tell  you  the  whole  thing,  Dick.  I  expected 
to  finish  it  yesterday,  but  it  rained  all  day  and  I 
couldn't  quite  pull  myself  up  to  it.  You  see  the  other 
time,  when  I  was  a  little  fellow,  it  was  a  bright  sunshiny 
day.  All  my  memory  of  it  is  full  of  gleaming  lights. 
I  didn't  mind  the  cold,  but  I  had  a  horror  of  the  lead- 
colored  sky  and  dark  water.  This  morning  I  started 
out  again,  but  it  was  no  better.  I  knew  it  was  sheer 
weakness  and  cowardice,  for  it  would  be  dark  down 
there  anyhow.  And  yet  I  could  not  shake  off  the  feel- 
ing. That  memory  of  my  boyhood  was  with  me,  and  I 
wanted  the  sunshine  on  the  water. 

"Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  asked  myself  a  question — 
'Are  you  not  a  coward  to  do  the  thing  at  all?'  You 
see,  it  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  do  anything 
else;  it  was  the  only  way  to  keep  the  disgrace  and 
horror  away  from  Clara.  That  question  staggered 
me — for,  Dick,  whatever  else  I  am  I  never  dreamed  I 
was  a  coward.  I  tried  to  put  myself  in  Clara's  place: 
— which  would  be  harder  for  her — to  face  the  unspeak- 
able shame  with  me,  and  know  all  about  it,  or  be  left 
alone  when  that — that  thing  should  be  found  in  the 
lake  ?  I  tell  you,  Dick,  I've  gone  to  the  depths  of  hell ! 
My  punishment  is  upon  me  living  or  dead,  and  I  can't 
escape  it.  I've  brought  suffering  upon  her,  and  now  I 
can't  even  die  to  save  her  from  it.  Soldiers  have  died 
for  the  country,  other  men  can  give  their  lives  for  those 


334      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

they  love,  but  I  have  forfeited  the  right  even  to  make 
a  sacrifice." 

Locke  put  his  arm  about  him.  "Let  me  give  you 
this  word  of  comfort,  Rho.  We — " 

"No,  Dick,  I'm  not  through  yet.  I  found  out  I  was 
a  coward,  but  that  wasn't  all — I  found  out  why  I  did 
the  hideous  thing.  I  thought  it  was  to  give  Clara 
larger  opportunity  and  greater  luxury — but  it  was  my 
own  ungoverned  grasping  after  power.  I  betrayed  my 
home  in  order  to  have  a  place  among  the  rich  men  of 
the  city.  It  is  unforgivable,  Dick!  I  know  what  I'm 
going  back  to — but  the  shame  of  it  and  the  suffering 
never  can  atone  for  the  sin. 

"I  never  knew  anything  about  prayer  after  mother 
died.  I  don't  know  whether  I  believed  in  it  or  not — 
at  least  until  that  night  little  Jeem  was  talking  to 
Pietro.  But  I  was  hopeless.  I  threw  myself  down  here 
on  the  ground  and  prayed.  I  don't  know  much  about 
your  God,  Dick.  He  seems  rather  wonderful  to  me. 
I  guess  I'm  afraid  of  him — though  I  never  knew  it  be- 
fore. I  just  did  what  Jeemy  did,  'I  made  a  pray 
weetha  Jesu.' " — Rhodin's  lips  trembled  and  he  turned 
away  his  head.  Then  he  went  on. 

"The  strangeness  of  it  is  that  for  two  hours  I've  had 
quietness.  The  horror  of  it  has  passed  away.  I've 
had  a  peculiar  feeling  all  morning  that  you  were  com- 
ing to  me,  though  how  you  still  care  for  me  is  more  than 
I  can  understand." 

And  then  Locke  told  him.  It  was  the  message  that 
he  had  been  commissioned  to  bring — that  Gilbert  and 
Kennedy  were  bowed  with  sorrow  and  not  with  anger — 
that  they  both  felt  they  were  not  without  a  certain 


FLYNN'S  POINT  335 

moral  responsibility  for  his  act — that  their  one  prayer 
was  his  return — that  the  whole  matter  would  be  buried, 
already  was  buried,  in  oblivion. 

Rhodin  was  overwhelmed.  But  he  dissented  abso- 
lutely from  anyone  bearing  a  hair's  weight  of  blame 
except  himself.  Their  magnanimity  would  make  it 
easier  for  him  to  return,  but  he  could  not  under  any 
circumstances  accept  the  last  suggestion — Clara  at 
least  must  be  told  of  his  perfidy  and  falsehood. 

"The  thing  seems  different  since  this  morning,"  he 
said.  "Yesterday  I  was  willing  to  go  into  eternity 
with  a  coward's  lie  on  my  soul.  I  wanted  to  die  to  keep 
Clara  from  knowing.  But  she's  got  to  know,  Dick. 
My  purpose  to  keep  the  truth  from  her  is  what  made 
me  know  I  was  a  coward.  And  my  quietness  came 
when  I  was  ready  to  go  back  and  tell  her — even  when  I 
thought  it  would  mean  public  disgrace  as  well.  No, 
Dick,  you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do — Clara  must  be  told." 

"You're  God's  man,  Rho,  and  he  will  make  the  way 
easy  for  you.  Already  he  has  done  it."  And  then  he 
related  what  he  knew  of  Sunday  afternoon — what 
Elizabeth  had  told  him  and  what  Clara  herself  had 
said.  Nor  did  he  forget  to  repeat  word  for  word  his 
message  from  Clara  on  Monday  morning. 

Rhodin  sat  silent  for  a  long  time.  A  great  peace 
was  upon  him.  Then  he  spoke. 

"Dick,  I  think  it  would  be  better  if  I  could  talk  to 
Clara  here  by  the  lake.  It  would  be  easier  for  both  of 
us.  There's  'phone  connection  over  at  Oden.  Would 
you  mind  sending  the  wire?" 

About  five  o'clock  Clara's  answer  was  brought  across 
the  lake.  She  would  take  the  night  sleeper. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
A  RAINY  DAY 

/CAPTAIN  FLYNN'S  household  was  astir  early. 
y*S  There  was  excitement  in  the  kitchen.  The  Cap- 
tain's boy  was  sent  over  to  Oden  to  borrow  a  white 
tablecloth. 

"Rhode  Curtis's  wife  is  eatin'  dinner  at  our  house," 
he  said  in  explanation,  "and  ma  says  she's  never  et 
offn  oilcloth  in  her  life." 

The  Captain  himself  was  out  at  daybreak  and 
brought  in  two  fine  ducks.  He  met  Rhodin  and  Locke 
in  front  of  the  house  as  he  was  returning. 

"I  don't  see  no  use  makin'  your  wife  fool  along  in 
the  'accommodation,'  Rhode,"  he  said,  laying  the  ducks 
on  the  wash  bench.  "That  darn'd  train  sometimes 
takes  three  hours  to  pull  up  from  Petoskey.  Last 
week  it  laid  at  the  sidin'  one  hour  and  forty  minutes, 
waitin'  for  Gus  Meeker  to  hi'st  a  steer  aboard.  Why 
don't  you  run  down  to  Petoskey  and  bring  her  up  in 
that  flivver?" 

The  Captain's  advice  was  sound,  and  Locke  started 
at  once.  Rhodin  preferred  to  wait.  "Bring  her  to 
the  camp,  Dick,"  he  said.  He  had  lost  much  of  his 
haggard  appearance.  Ten  hours  of  sleep,  a  bath  and 
shave  had  somewhat  restored  him,  but  the  look  which 
broke  Locke's  heart  was  still  in  his  eyes. 

336 


A  RAINY  DAY  337 

Before  eight  o'clock  Locke  found  himself  stalled  on 
a  muddy  road.  He  did  not  impugn  the  flivver ;  he  was 
questioning  all  vehicles  shod  with  air.  His  front  tire 
had  picked  up  a  twisted  nail.  Before  he  had  succeeded 
in  changing  the  tire,  another  all-day  rain  had  started 
in,  and  he  was  compelled  to  drive  cautiously.  By  the 
time  he  had  reached  the  Petoskey  station,  the  Oden 
"accommodation"  had  been  gone  fifty  minutes. 

He  knew  that  Rhodin  expected  to  take  the  night 
express  from  Petoskey,  so  he  exchanged  the  limp- 
ing roadster  for  a  closed  car  and  started  back  to  the 
captain's.  It  would  make  the  return  trip  easier  for 
Clara. 

For  once  the  captain's  accusation  was  unfounded — 
the  train  from  Petoskey  was  on  time. 

"Be  one  of  you  Rhode  Curtis's  wife?"  The  question 
was  asked  by  a  tawny  native,  and  was  addressed  to  two 
ladies  who  had  stepped  from  the  "accommodation." 
They  were  looking  anxiously  toward  a  dreary  shack 
that  bore  the  illuminating  inscription,  "Oden  Store  and 
Post  Office." 

"One  of  us  is,"  answered  Clara,  smiling.  "Did  Mr. 
Curtis  send  you  to  fetch  us?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  when  it  began  rainin'  the  cap'n 
'lowed  Dr.  Locke  might  have  trouble  with  the  autymo- 
bile,  and  miss  you  at  Puttowsky.  I  was  comin'  over  for 
the  paper,  so  I  told  'im  I'd  keep  an  eye  open  for  you. 
I  reckon,  though,  he  war'h't  expectin'  more'n  one  o* 
you." 

He  looked  admiringly  from  Clara  to  the  dark-eyed 
lady  beside  her,  then  they  all  moved  over  toward  the 
store.  The  ladies  remained  standing  under  the  rain- 


338      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

soaked  awning  while  their  kindly  interlocutor  waited 
for  the  mail  bag  to  be  opened. 

"But,  Elizabeth,  you  mustn't  stay  in  this  wretched 
place." 

Her  companion  laughed.  "You  never  were  held  for 
days  together  in  a  dak  bungalow  in  the  Himalayas," 
she  answered.  "I  shall  get  on  very  comfortably. 
Seriously,  dear,  Mr.  Curtis  is  expecting  only  you,  and 
it  is  better  for  me  not  to  go." 

"You  could  spend  the  time  with  Dr.  Locke,"  and 
Clara  smiled. 

Elizabeth's  eyes  danced.  "It  hardly  would  be 
proper  for  a  young  unmarried  lady  to  force  her  atten- 
tions on  your  new  pastor."  She  was  laughing,  but  the 
rich  color  was  in  her  face. 

"After  all  I've  told  you,  dear?"  answered  Clara. 
"You  know  how  he  worships  you,  and  how  my  wicked 
deception  has  kept  him  from  you." 

"I  think  Dr.  Locke  should  be  punished  for  not  hav- 
ing better  discernment !  If  he  really  has  made  up  his 
mind  about  'Lord  Ullin's  daughter,'  she  won't  run  away 
from  him — but  he'll  have  to  seek  her  here,  'across  the 
stormy  water !' ': 

The  boatman  came  out  with  his  paper  and  they 
walked  down  to  the  landing.  Clara  was  a  little 
nervous. 

"Thank  you,  Elizabeth,  for  coming  with  me;  you 
have  made  me  strong.  I  would  be  frightened  if  Dr. 
Locke's  telegram  had  not  assured  me  that  Rho  is  per- 
fectly well.  And  yet  I'm  equally  sure  he  needs  me  for 
some  very  serious  reason." 

An  open  boat  is  an  uncomfortable  place  when  it 


A  RAINY  DAY  339 

rains,  and  Clara  was  grateful  that  the  murky  drizzle 
had  ceased — at  least  for  a  while. 

"Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Curtis  is  staying?"  she 
asked,  lowering  her  umbrella. 

"He's  be'n  stoppin'  at  Cap'n  Flynn's,  but  mostly  he 
fools  round  that  campin'  place  where  him  and  Dr. 
Locke  was  last  summer.  I  reckon  that's  where  he  is 
now,  for  that's  where  Dr.  Locke  was  plannin'  to  take 
you  in  the  autymobile." 

"Can  you  take  me  directly  there?"  Clara  divined 
Rhodin's  wish  that  they  should  be  alone. 

"Sure,  if  you  want  me  to.  But  you'll  find  it  purty 
damp." 

"I'm  not  sugar — I  won't  melt."  Then  she  laughed, 
for  the  native  was  looking  at  her  as  though  he  doubted 
both  her  statements. 

The  sun  crept  through  and  looked  at  them  as  the 
boat  nosed  its  way  along  the  sunken  log,  and  Rhodin 
reached  over  and  clasped  her  to  him. 

"But  Rho,  darling,  you  must  not  say  such  things 
about  yourself.  It  was  wrong.  I  tremble  when  I 
think  about  it — but  you  didn't  deceive  anybody,  dear, 
and  you  protected  them  every  minute." 

"I  deceived  myself,  Clara,  and  I  did  not  protect  you." 
His  face  had  become  haggard  again  and  the  dark  hol- 
lows of  his  eyes  were  ringed  with  anguish. 

Clara  turned  and  looked  at  him.  She  had  been 
sitting  beside  him  on  the  bench.  Her  face  had  been 
resting  against  his  shoulder  and  her  eyes  had  been 
staring  out  over  the  reeds  and  lilies.  Rhodin  had  not 
even  hinted  why  he  had  come  to  the  lake ;  he  had  told 


340      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

her  only  of  the  affair  at  the  bank.  But  as  she  looked 
into  his  eyes  she  realized  the  horror  that  had  been  upon 
him. 

A  very  frenzy  of  fear  seized  her.  She  clung  to  him 
piteously,  while  shudder  after  shudder  passed  over  her. 
She  only  could  whisper,  "O,  not  that,  not  that!" 
Rhodin's  lips  were  pale,  and  his  throat  was  dry  and 
parched,  as  he  whispered  back,  "Thank  God,  my  dar- 
ling, that  horror  is  past — forever !" 

Then  something  came  to  Clara  Curtis — for  the  first 
time  she  recognized  the  stewardship  of  marriage.  In 
that  swift  moment  of  realization  she  knew  that  Rhodin 
had  built  a  garden  of  flowers  for  her  to  live  in — and 
she  had  been  languidly  glad  to  have  it  so. 

With  burning  shame  she  knew  that  her  unthoughtful- 
ness  had  compelled  Rhodin  to  live  his  life  without  her. 
And  she  herself,  living  in  a  dream  world,  had  been 
caught  in  the  web  of  that  false  thing,  "Reality."  In 
his  great  yearning  love  Rhodin  had  been  ready  to 
throw  himself  out  among  the  hideous  shadows  in  order 
that  her  silken  couch  might  not  have  the  discomfort  of 
a  crumpled  rose  leaf.  She  buried  her  burning  face 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  have  not  been  a  true  wife  to  you,  Rho.  I  have 
let  you  carry  me  as  though  I  were  a  piece  of  porcelain. 
I  have  not  stood  beside  you  to  take  my  share  of  life. 
The  untruth  has  been  in  me,  dear,  not  you." 

There  had  been  few  tears  in  Clara's  life,  but  the 
heart-searching  of  that  hour  and  her  unpitying  con- 
demnation of  her  own  self-centered  existence  were  like 
a  cleansing  tide  at  the  flood. 

Rhodin  held  her  to  him.     He  told  her  she  had  been 


Then  something  came  to  Clara  Curtis 


A  RAINY  DAY  341 

his  dream  and  inspiration,  that  she  had  come  into  his 
raw,  uncultivated  life  like  an  exquisite  spirit  from  an- 
other world.  But  the  more  he  spoke  the  more  her 
bitter  tears  made  answer. 

"O  Rho,"  she  sobbed,  "you  can't  understand  the 
untruth  that  has  been  in  me;  your  own  great  soul  has 
been  too  big  to  notice  it."  Then  she  kissed  him  and 
healing  quietness  fell  upon  them  both. 

They  had  many  things  to  talk  about.  The  separa- 
tion of  half  a  week  had  ushered  each  of  them  into  a 
new  life.  Clara  told  him  of  her  prayer  on  Sunday 
afternoon — of  her  agony  lest  he  should  be  in  danger, 
and  the  thrilling  assurance  that  God  would  bring  him 
safe.  Rhodin  spoke  with  simple  directness  of  his  own 
victory  when  the  Man  of  Calvary  stood  by  him.  They 
spoke  of  Locke  and  Elizabeth,  and  Clara  did  not  cover 
up  the  subtle  falsehood  which  had  imposed  upon  her- 
self as  well  as  deceived  her  husband. 

"Rho,  as  I  see  it  now,  all  that  strange  falsehood 
came  from  Professor  Roome's  lecture  on  'Faith.'  He 
said,  'If  you'll  believe  a  thing  is  true,  something  that 
you  very  much  want,  it  will  be  true,  no  matter  how  un- 
true it  may  seem.1  He  said  this  was  the  true  teaching 
of  Jesus  in  the  New  Testament.  I  have  no  right  to 
blame  anybody  but  myself,  and  I  do  not.  I  was 
stubborn.  I  would  not  listen  to  mother,  nor  even  to 
you  in  your  one  request  that  I  should  stay  in  the 
church  for  the  sake  of  little  Arthur.  I've  told  Eliza- 
beth of  my  deception  and  I — I  shall  tell  Dr.  Locke." 

And  then  they  talked  of  Rhodin's  new-found  wealth. 
He  told  her  what  he  felt  he  ought  to  do  with  it,  and 
when  she  smiled  at  him  and  said,  "How  can  tee  do  any- 


342      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

thing  else,  Rho?"  he  caught  her  to  him.  He  under- 
stood her  sweet  emphasis  and  the  look  of  comrade- 
ship she  gave  him.  Henceforth  it  was  to  be  "we"  in 
all  their  life. 

The  honk  honk  of  a  car  pushing  toward  them  from 
the  "point"  made  them  know  that  their  sweet  hour  to- 
gether was  drawing  to  a  close. 

"It  has  been  like  another  wedding  trip,  Rho,  only 
this  one  is  the  beginning  of  'forever !'  "  and  Rhodin 
knew  that  it  was  even  as  she  said. 

"How  dare  I  take  it,  Rho?"  Locke's  voice  was  full 
of  wonder. 

"But  we  can't  keep  it,  Dick.  You  see  that  as  well 
as  I  do.  I'll  take  back  the  twenty  thousand  that  repre- 
sents the  mortgage  on  the  home,  and  it's  perfectly  right 
for  me  to  receive  back  the  fourteen  thousand  that  I 
invested  in  June — the  principal,  I  mean.  But  all  the 
rest  has  the  smell  of  fire  upon  it.  The  investment  it- 
self might  have  been  honorable  and  just  if  I  had  not 
smirched  it.  But  I  can't  touch  it  now,  Dick."  The 
words  came  with  a  new  emphasis. 

Locke's  soul  swelled  within  him.  "It's  prophetic, 
Rho !  I  can't  imagine  what  it  means — only  I  know  it's 
a  prophecy  of  things  to  come." 

"Perhaps  it  is,  Dick,  but  not  for  me.  Let  the  money 
stay  in  Gilbert's  hands  until  you've  made  up  your 
mind.  Clara  and  I  can  have  nothing  further  to  do 
with  it.  But  there  is  something  else  I  want  to  say. 
I've  thought  it  through  and  I  know  where  the  thing 
began — it  was  that  night  at  Burt  Lake  when  I  refused 
to  acknowledge  God." 


A  RAINY  DAY  343 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  roll  of  bills  and 
some  change  and  counted  it  upon  the  wooden  plank. 
It  came  to  $38.50. 

"You  see  I  didn't  bring  very  much  for  this  trip, 
Dick,  and  I  may  have  to  borrow  from  you  to  get  home." 
Locke  watched  him  as  he  separated  $3.85  and  handed  it 
to  him. 

"You  called  that  other  'prophetic' — all  it  means  to 
me  is  the  getting  rid  of  a  hideous  thing  that  rested 
down  upon  me.  But  this  separated  portion  is  the 
prophecy  for  me  and  Clara.  It  isn't  dead.  It's  alive. 
It  means  that  all  we  have  belongs  to  God — and  we  are 
his — forever." 

Rhodin  was  looking  out  over  the  undulating  reeds 
and  lilies.  His  eyes  were  clear  and  quiet.  Clara  was 
smiling  up  at  him. 

Then  she  turned :  "You're  my  new  pastor,  aren't  you, 
Dr.  Locke?"  A  touch  of  red  was  in  her  cheeks. 

"Yes — yours  and  Rho's." 

"Then  I  can't  come  back  to  Old  First  until  I've 
told  you  something." 

Clara  spoke  rapidly — at  first  with  her  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  then  looking  into  his  face.  As  she  finished, 
Locke's  own  eyes  were  blazing  and  a  scarlet  flag  was 
in  both  his  cheeks. 

Rhodin  looked  at  his  watch  and  a  glimmer  of  mirth 
rested  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"The  Captain  always  is  out  of  sorts  when  folks  are 
late  to  dinner,"  he  said.  "Don't  you  think  he  ought 
to  be  starting,  Clara?  It's  a  good  forty  minutes— 
both  ways.  You'd  better  take  my  tarpaulin,  Dick ;  it's 
going  to  rain  again." 


344      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Locke  looked  from  Rhodin  to  Clara  and  then  back 
again.  The  scarlet  mounted  into  his  forehead. 

"I  left  Elizabeth  at  the  Oden  store,  Dr.  Locke,  and 
it's  a  wretched  place  to  stay  longer  than  one  has  to." 
Clara  was  laughing  at  him. 

Elizabeth  had  finished  her  book  and  finally  became 
tired  of  counting  the  cracker  boxes  and  stroking  the 
cat. 

"Be  you  any  relation  to  Rhode  Curtis' s  wife?"  A 
freckle-faced  boy  put  his  head  in  at  the  door  and  looked 
at  her. 

"No,  but  I'm  a  friend  of  hers,"  answered  Elizabeth, 
smiling. 

"Well,  somebody's  pullin'  across  from  the  'point'  in 
Cap'n  Flynn's  boat,  an'  I  bet  they're  comin'  for  you. 
It's  rainin'  too!" 

"Thank  you.     I'd  better  be  ready  then."  ' 

When  Richard  Locke  tied  his  boat  to  the  landing, 
Elizabeth  was  waiting  for  him.  ...  It  was  impossible 
for  anyone  to  see  them  from  the  store.  .  .  .  Besides, 
Elizabeth's  umbrella  was  up. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
PIETRO  PROPHESIES 

JUNE  had  come  again.  Old  First  was  in  the  midst 
of  her  Centenary  Celebration.  For  a  week  the 
stately  old  church,  and  its  program  of  human  better- 
ment, had  commanded  a  front  page  story  in  the  daily 
Gazette.  An  appreciative  editorial  expressed  the 
public  mind — sincere  regret  that  Richard  Locke  was 
about  to  give  up  his  pastorate  after  four  years  of 
prophetic  leadership — warm  welcome  for  Craig  McRae, 
who  had  come  back  from  the  trenches  of  Europe  with 
a  message  for  the  manhood  of  the  city. 

The  opening  night  at  the  Parish  House  was  memor- 
able in  the  twelfth  ward — it  marked  the  launching  of 
the  "American  Club."  On  the  stroke  of  eight  the  great 
organ  sounded  the  national  anthem.  The  audience 
stood  while  two  former  members  of  Captain  Janes's 
company  walked  down  either  aisle,  each  bearing  a  flag, 
and  set  them  in  their  standards  on  either  side  of  the 
platform.  That  reverent  act  was  both  hymn  and 
prayer. 

Rhodin  Curtis,  president  of  the  "American  Club"  and 
chairman  of  its  first  public  testimonial,  spoke  briefly. 
It  was  good  to  look  at  him.  The  masterful  bearing 
was  what  his  friends  always  had  known,  but  during 
these  late  months  a  gentleness  had  come  which  drew 
men  no  less  than  commanded  them. 

"There's  something  big  about  him,  Rose,"  said 
345 


346      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

Frank  Janes,  to  his  wife  a  month  after  their  return, 
"something  that  makes  the  boys  tell  him  all  their 
troubles  and  then  trust  him." 

The  chairman  explained  briefly  the  purpose  of  the 
club — it  was  to  unite  in  neighborly  fellowship  "all  good 
Americans  who  hate  a  lie,  who  love  the  flag,  and  who 
seek  to  acknowledge  God  by  caring  for  the  welfare  of 
the  community."  He  then  explained  that  the  club 
membership  would  be  limited  to  citizens  of  pure  Ameri- 
can stock  and  to  those  who  had  emigrated  to  America, 
either  themselves  or  their  families,  "within  the  last  three 
hundred  years." 

"The  Executive  Committee  was  somewhat  embar- 
rassed after  making  this  decision,"  the  chairman  con- 
tinued, "by  discovering  that  Dr.  Richard  Locke 
possibly  might  be  excluded  from  club  membership,  his 
first  American  ancestor  having  reached  this  country 
in  1610,  clearly  exceeding  our  three-hundred-year  limit. 
We  were  relieved  of  our  embarrassment,  however,  when 
we  learned  that  his  mother's  family  did  not  arrive  until 
ten  years  later,  thus  enabling  him  to  claim  exemption 
by  the  close  margin  of  one  year.  As  for  the  rest  of  us 
no  such  disability  is  likely  to  be  found." 

During  this  explanation  Pietro  Vecchi  leaned  for- 
ward with  a  red  face  and  a  beady  glitter  in  his  eyes. 
He  was  sitting  with  a  dozen  of  the  boys  in  the  front 
row  of  the  gallery.  As  Rhodin  Curtis  finished  he  drew 
a  long  breath  and  spoke  to  Joe  Penito  in  a  guttural 
whisper. 

"Dey  ees  better  not  keep  Dr.  Locke  out'a  da  Club! 
Heem  ees  mooch  smarta  man,  an'  evra  bit  American, 
lika  me!" 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  347 

"Ya  betcha!"  answered  Joe. 

The  Mayor's  address  on  behalf  of  the  city  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  round  of  applause,  and  Alderman  Levitsky 
won  an  ovation  when  he  said: 

"I'm  not  a  church  member  myself,  but  I  count  it  a 
great  day  when  our  City  Council  is  invited  to  take  part 
in  this  larger  program  of  citizenship.  Neighborliness 
and  good  fellowship  are  worth  more  to  the  city  than 
asphalt  pavements  and  rapid  transit." 

Then  followed  fraternal  greetings  from  the  various 
city  churches.  The  rector  of  Trinity  appeared 
nervous  and  ill  at  ease  until  Father  Duncan  brought 
down  the  house  with  his  delicious  brogue. 

"I'm  not  here,  me  frinds,  to  riprisint  Saint 
Pathrick's,"  he  said.  "His  Riv'rince,  the  Pope,  might 
cut  a  bit  from  the  tail  of  me  cassock  if  he  found  I  was 
too  familiar  with  me  Protestant  brethren — God  bless 
them!  But  I'm  here  as  a  shtraight  American  citizen. 
Any  man  who  is  kind  to  his  neighbor  and  loves  the 
childher  of  the  city,  that  man  is  me  brother,  whether 
he  buttons  his  collar  in  front  or  behind  or  ties  it  under 
his  left  ear  with  a  sht'ring!" 

The  address  of  Dr.  Milne,  pastor  of  College  Hill 
Church,  was  packed  with  the  wider  meaning  of  the 
Centenary. 

"We  all  are  interested  to  know  that  Old  First  has 
reached  its  hundredth  anniversary,"  he  said,  "but  when 
that  anniversary  synchronizes  with  the  beginning  of  a 
new  epoch  in  human  history,  then  every  church  and 
every  citizen  knows  that  the  Centenary  is  simply  an- 
other name  for  The  New  Era." 

And  then  in  graphic  phrase  the  speaker  described 


the  mobilizing  of  the  churches — how  the  opening  of  the 
great  war  found  them  self-centered  and  petty  and  how 
the  end  of  it  was  finding  them  ready  to  realize  their 
larger  stewardship. 

When  the  speaker  turned  toward  Richard  Locke  and 
acknowledged  that  all  the  churches  had  become  his 
debtors,  the  audience  stood  up  and  cheered.  "It  is 
easy  now  to  see  the  place  of  our  stewardship,"  he  said, 
"for  it  is  written  on  the  sky  in  letters  of  living  light. 
Everybody  can  see  it  now!  But  there  has  been  a 
prophet  among  us  who  could  read  it  in  the  mind  and 
purpose  of  God  before  it  was  written  down  by  the 
visible  hand  of  events.  All  honor  to  the  man  who  saw 
while  others  slept!" — and  the  audience  cheered  again. 

"But  though  it  is  easy  to  see  our  stewardship,  it  will 
not  be  easy  to  realize  it,"  continued  Dr.  Milne.  "Even 
Old  First  is  only  beginning  to  realize  it  after  these 
years  of  leadership.  Great  visions  must  develop  into 
great  programs,  and  these,  in  turn,  must  be  wrought 
out  with  wisdom  and  infinite  patience." 

Wednesday  night  was  World  Outlook,  and  the 
American  Club  was  given  a  glimpse  of  nations  shrouded 
in  darkness.  Old  First  always  had  been  a  "missionary 
church,"  and  some  of  the  members  thought  it  would  be 
a  mistake  to  have  a  "missionary  meeting"  in  the  new 
Parish  House. 

"The  general  public  is  not  interested  in  missions," 
they  said. 

But  Richard  Locke  scouted  such  an  idea.  "What 
bores  the  general  public  is  'professional  missions.' 
There's  no  use  exhibiting  our  bake-oven ;  we'll  give  the 
people  bread!" 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  349 

John  Roberts  spoke  first.  It  was  a  prophet's  warn- 
ing that  America  must  not  forget  the  solidarity  of  the 
human  race — he  illustrated  it  simply.  Even  Pietro 
understood  it  perfectly.  And  it  was  a  soldier's  call  to 
remember  "not  only  the  blight  of  Belgium,  not  the 
anguish  of  France  alone,  but  the  sorrow  of  nations  that 
know  not  God,  the  silent  suffering  of  folks,  just  like 
yourselves,  who  have  been  betrayed  through  all  the 
Christian  centuries." 

Then  Richard  Locke  stood  up  to  give  his  parting 
message.  A  hush  fell  upon  the  great  audience.  There 
was  no  suggestion  of  applause.  Sanford  Kennedy, 
chairman  of  the  meeting,  leaned  forward.  James  Gil- 
bert sat  rigid  in  his  chair.  Rhodin  Curtis  and  his  wife 
leaned  closer  toward  each  other. 

But  Locke's  first  sentence  brought  a  wave  of  glad- 
ness. "  'Farewell'  is  not  in  all  the  Christian's  vocabu- 
lary," he  said.  "When  Paul  was  taking  leave  of  the 
Corinthian  church,  he  saw  them  as  they  would  be  in 
the  years  to  come,  eager,  victorious,  full  of  good  works, 
and  in  his  joy  he  said,  'All  hail !'  The  translators  have 
made  him  say  'Farewell,'  but  it  is  the  same  word  that 
Jesus  used  when  he  met  his  friends  on  the  morning  of 
the  resurrection — and  it  is  the  word  I  bring  you  now: 
All  hail!" 

He  did  not  speak  of  his  years  of  toil  among  them — 
he  did  not  refer  to  himself  at  all.  But  he  told  of  the 
great  days  into  which  the  Church  of  God  was  entering, 
days  of  victory  because  the  gospel  of  Christ  would  be 
realized  in  terms  of  common  life. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful,  friends,"  he  said,  "that  a  man  is 
able  to  realize  God  in  money?  We  might  forget  to 


350      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

pray,  and  no  one  would  remind  us,  but  whenever  we 
touch  a  dollar,  or  a  dime,  or  even  a  copper  cent,  that 
moment  it  is  as  though  an  unseen  hand  were  laid  upon 
us  and  an  insistent  voice  sounded  this  gentle  warning — 
'It's  in  your  hand,  this  money,  but  it  belongs  to  Me; 
acknowledge  it;  no  matter  how  it  tests  your  faith, 
acknowledge  it! — and  see  how  my  blessing  shall  be 
poured  out  upon  you!'  And  that  act,  my  friends,  so 
simple  that  any  child  who  can  count  the  number  of  his 
fingers  can  perform  it,  and  so  searching  that  it  reveals 
the  hidden  heart  of  rich  and  wise  men,  is  the  beginning 
of  walking  and  talking  with  God.  It  is  the  doorway 
into  stewardship." 

As  Locke  spoke  of  the  wonder  of  it — how  the  simple 
separating  of  the  tithe  was  the  plain  man's  way  of 
breaking  the  hard,  rough  shell  of  daily  life  and  taking 
from  it  the  sweet  kernel  of  joy  and  love  and  friendship 
— Pietro,  sitting  as  before  in  the  front  row  of  the 
gallery,  leaned  his  head  forward  upon  the  rail.  "I 
gif-it  you,  Jesu,  dose  tent',"  he  whispered,  "I  gif-it  you 
evratheeng! — poor  oP  Pietro  ees  mooch  hongry  for 
dose  peanutta!" 

When  Locke  learned  afterward  that  his  last  message 
at  Old  First  had  won  the  old  vendor  for  Jesus  Christ, 
he  felt  that  it  was  a  good  token  of  the  days  when  he 
should  stand  among  a  people  of  strange  speech — 
the  same  simple  words  and  the  same  unfailing  love  would 
win  them  also. 

"And  think  what  it  means,"  continued  Locke,  "that 
God  trusts  us  to  administer  that  holy  tenth  for  his 
kingdom.  It  has  transformed  our  whole  outlook  on 
the  social  problems  of  our  city.  For  the  first  time  rich 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  351 

men  and  poor  men  are  able  to  stand  on  a  platform  of 
common  brotherhood. 

"And  what  wonderful  things  for  God  our  people  are 
planning!  I  cannot  tell  all  that  Mr.  James  Gilbert  is 
purposing,  for  every  month  he  surprises  me  by  some- 
thing new.  You  may  know  a  little  of  it,  however,  if  I 
tell  you  what  Mr.  Gilbert  announced  at  our  Board 
meeting.  It  seems  that  a  noble  friend  of  his,  whose 
name  he  did  not  disclose,  has  placed  in  his  hands  a  large 
sum  of  money,  in  trust,  to  be  administered  by  him. 
But  Mr.  Gilbert  told  the  Board  that  he  had  refused 
to  accept  the  money  except  on  one  condition — that  for 
every  dollar  of  his  friend's  trust  which  he  administered 
he  was  to  add  two  dollars  from  his  own  fortune. 

"Nor  can  I  tell  you,  my  friends,  what  other  great 
hearts  among  us  are  planning — Mr.  Kennedy,  Dr. 
Janes,  Mrs.  Heustis,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Curtis,  and  a  score 
of  God's  stewards  who  have  been  given  unusual  oppor- 
tunity to  administer  for  him.  I  only  know  they  hold 
themselves  and  all  they  have  ready  for  immediate  use. 
And  so,  thank  God,  do  scores  and  hundreds  in  dear  Old 
First,  whose  Centenary  is  not  a  memorial  of  the  past, 
but  a  prophecy  of  the  wonderful  years  that  are  coming. 

"I  would  not  dare  to  leave  you,  nor  move  out  into  the 
vast  field  of  Asia,  if  I  thought  I  would  be  separated 
from  your  love  and  your  prayer.  But  I  shall  not  be. 
Think  of  it — Dr.  McRae  and  I  are  appointed  as  joint 
ministers  of  this  Church.  He  will  serve  here  and  give 
both  you  and  the  city  his  great  constructive  leadership. 
How  the  men  of  the  city  will  rally  to  him !  I  shall  serve 
out  yonder,  and  Mr.  Roberts  tells  me  that  the  fourfold 
program  of  Old  First,  adapted  to  conditions  in  Asia, 


352      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

is  exactly  the  program  that  will  win  the  people  there. 
It  must  be  so,  for  folks  are  only  folks,  in  all  the  world ! 
And  so — it  is  not  Farewell,  but  All  hail!" 

Sanford  Kennedy  was  laughing  as  he  and  James 
Gilbert  walked  down  the  street  together.  "You  know, 
James,  I  can't  be  sorrowful,"  he  said.  "I  shall  miss 
him — O  how  I  shall  miss  him!  But  whenever  Locke 
begins  to  speak  I  forget  everything  but  the  Kingdom. 
He  and  Elizabeth  Janes  will  be  like  a  tree  of  blessing 
planted  beside  the  sad  rivers  of  India.  It  is  of  the 
Lord,  and  I  am  content." 

When  Richard  Locke  stood  the  next  evening  near 
the  chapel  door  at  Old  First,  he  looked  out  over  a  sea 
of  faces.  It  was  not  a  fashionable  wedding.  But  it 
was  what  both  he  and  Elizabeth  had  desired,  a  wedding 
where  all  the  people  might  look  and  listen  and  give  their 
blessing.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  city  was  there,  but 
what  Locke  remembered  longest  was  Pietro's  flaming 
red  necktie  in  the  fourth  row  of  the  gallery.  All  the 
boys  were  with  him,  excepting  little  Jeemy  Rafael,  who 
sat  with  John  Roberts  near  the  first  pillar  to  the  left. 
The  lonely  little  fellow,  drawn  by  some  instinctive  fel- 
lowship, had  wound  himself  into  the  missionary's  heart. 
The  boy's  eyes  were  big  with  excitement.  Roberts 
sat  white  and  still. 

But  Locke  had  no  time  to  single  out  his  friends. 
Craig  McRae  had  opened  the  ritual  and  was  whisper- 
ing to  him,  "They're  coming,  Dickens !  Move  toward 
the  center  when  Dr.  Janes  reaches  the  third  pew." 

The  great  organ  was  rippling  with  the  "Lohengrin." 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  353 

The  arrangements  at  the  Parish  House  were  in  the 
hands  of  Mrs.  Rhodin  Curtis  and  Mrs.  Frank  Janes. 
It  was  a  little  difficult  to  refuse  Pietro  when  he  offered 
to  regale  the  company  with  "free  hundred  weenies,  an' 
cook  dem  mysal,"  but  Rose  was  equal  to  it. 

"You  see  it  would  keep  you  away  from  the  church, 
Pietro,  right  during  the  ceremony !  Dr.  Locke  wouldn't 
be  happy  if  his  friends  were  not  present  to  see  him 
married." 

That  settled  it.  Pietro  was  entirely  happy  when 
Rose  promised  that  he  might  present  the  guests  with 
"free  hundred  baga  peanutta."  Dr.  Janes  was  de- 
lighted with  the  arrangement,  and  Miss  Winthrop 
added  the  master  stroke. 

"We'll  have  them  placed  in  tissue  bags  of  red,  white, 
and  blue,"  she  said,  "with  hand-etched  Scripture  verses 
for  'favors.'  Rose  shall  select  them." 

It  was  beautiful  how  Miss  Winthrop  had  found  her 
own  happiness  in  the  far-reaching  plans  of  which  she 
was  a  part.  Richard  Locke's  one  sorrow  in  leaving 
her  had  been  removed — his  gentle  and  devoted  aunt 
would  not  be  left  alone.  At  first  it  was  a  surprise,  and 
then  everyone  saw  how  natural  it  was  that  Dr.  Janes 
had  found  in  Miss  Winthrop  the  love  of  his  later  years. 

Elizabeth's  own  happiness  was  complete.  "It  makes 
me  all  still  within,  Richard,"  she  said,  "when  I  see 
God's  perfect  plan  for  us." 

When  Pietro  bowed  low  and  handed  a  "baga  pea- 
nutta" to  Miss  Winthrop  and  another  to  Dr.  Janes, 
she  thanked  him  with  a  pretty  pink  in  both  her  cheeks. 
Then  she  looked  at  the  "favor"  in  her  envelope  and  her 
eyes  filled.  "Dear  Rose !"  she  said.  This  is  what  Rose 


854      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

had  chosen  for  her — "And  she  shall  rejoice  in  time  to 
come," 

"What  verse  did  you  get,  Mr.  Vecchi?"  she  asked, 
smiling. 

Pietro  took  the  card  from  his  fat  pocketbook  and  ex- 
hibited it  with  great  pride.  "/  have  called  you  friends," 
is  what  Rose  had  chosen. 

"That's  a  very  appropriate  verse  for  all  of  us, 
Pietro,"  said  Dr.  Janes.  He  had  taken  a  great  lik- 
ing to  Pietro,  and  more  than  once  had  stopped  at  his 
stand  to  buy  his  crisp  peanuts  and  chat  with  him. 
Pietro  regarded  him  with  veneration  and,  next  to 
Richard  Locke,  as  "a  mooch  smarta  man." 

"Ees  all'a  de  peepla  een  da  churcha  frands  weetha 
Jesu?"  he  asked,  looking  fixedly  at  Dr.  Janes.  The 
good  man  flushed  slightly. 

"Well,  Pietro,  I  think  most  of  them  try  to  be  his 
friends,"  he  said. 

"An*  ees  dey  halpa  Dr.  Locke  w'en  he  tal-it  dose 
granda  socialisma  to  dose  he'den?" 

"Those  what,  Pietro?" 

"Dose  he'den — dose  peepla  what  notta  don't  ondra- 
stan'  dose  socialisma,  an'  notta  ees  frands  weetha 
Jesu." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Pietro!"  Dr.  Janes  answered  with 
genuine  enthusiasm.  "The  members  of  Old  First  are 
building  schools  and  hospitals  for  those  poor  people, 
and  they  are  sending  Dr.  Locke  and  his  wife  to  teach 
them  and  help  them  and  watch  over  them.  And  there 
are  many  churches  in  America  just  like  Old  First. 
Hundreds  of  young  men  and  young  women  are  plan- 
ning to  give  their  lives,  just  as  Dr.  Locke  and  my 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  855 

daughter  are  doing,  in  order  that  everybody  in  the 
world  may  be  friends  with  Jesus,  just  as  we  are." 

The  words  came  with  fervor  and  simplicity  and  Pie- 
tro  listened  with  his  head  bent  forward  and  his  round 
face  filled  with  astonishment. 

"Den  I  tal  you  w'at!"  he  said,  with  blazing  eyes. 
"Dr.  Locke  ees  moocha  my  frand.  Heem  ondrastan' 
dose  granda  socialisma  more  better  dan  me.  Wen  Dr. 
Locke  ees  oxsplain  dose  socialisma,  an'  all  dose  smarta 
keeds  ees  halpa  heem — den,  sure  t'ing!  da  whole  tarn 
worl'  ees  maka  frauds  weetha  Jesu,  pritta  queeck 
soon !" 

"I  can't  repeat  what  he  said,"  explained  Miss  Win- 
throp  when  she  told  Mrs.  Heustis  about  it,  "for  he  used 
an  awful  word!  But  I  don't  think  he  meant  it  for 
swearing,  at  all,  and  my  faith  has  been  stronger  ever 
since  he  said  it.  Dr.  Janes  thinks  the  same  as  I  do." 

Long  before  the  evening  was  over  Jeemy  Rafael  be- 
came weary,  and  John  Roberts  coaxed  him  away  from 
the  crowd  to  the  quiet  of  the  "Shiners' "  Club  Room. 
As  they  were  passing  toward  the  stairway  a  lady  ap- 
proached them  and  spoke  to  the  missionary. 

"Could  I  have  a  few  moments'  conversation  with 
you?"  she  said. 

John  Roberts  looked  at  her.  She  was  richly  but 
quietly  dressed.  Her  face,  serene  and  tranquil  in  re- 
pose, was  filled  with  eagerness.  There  was  an  anxious 
look  in  her  eyes. 

"Certainly,"  he  said.  He  led  her  to  a  settee  while 
little  Jeemy  sat  down  on  the  bottom  step  and  waited. 


356      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

"I  am  Mrs.  Rogers,"  she  began — "Mrs.  Kave 
Rogers." 

The  missionary  inclined  his  head.  "I  think  I  have 
heard  Dr.  Locke  speak  of  you,"  he  answered. 

The  lady  flushed.  "Dr.  Locke  hardly  could  speak 
of  me  with  much  consideration.  You  know  I  withdrew 
from  Old  First  several  years  ago." 

"On  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Rogers,  your  former  pastor 
spoke  of  you  as  a  woman  of  high  ideals,  who,  unfortu- 
nately perhaps,  had  ventured  out  upon  a  shadowy  sea 
without  chart  or  compass.  He  spoke  of  you  with  entire 
sympathy,  and  regretted  his  inability  to  be  of  service 
to  you  when  you  were  passing  through  a  severe  trial — 
some  months  ago." 

Mrs.  Rogers  dropped  her  eyes.  "Do  you  mean  when 
certain  harsh  criticisms  were  heaped  upon  me — after 
the  death  of  little  Victoria  Bhymer?" 

"Yes." 

The  tears  came.  "Mr.  Roberts,"  she  said,  "I  truly 
believed  everything  that  I  encouraged  Mrs.  Bhymer  to 
believe.  To  this  day  I  do  not  understand  how  I  could 
have  been  so  mistaken." 

"Perhaps,  Mrs.  Rogers,  your  error  was  deeper  down 
than  the  mere  circumstance  of  your  mistake  about  the 
little  child." 

"I  heard  your  lectures  last  winter  at  the  college — 
your  lectures  on  Hinduism — and  I  have  been  much  dis- 
turbed ever  since.  I — I  no  longer  attend  the  'Church  of 
the  Reality.'  But  I  cannot  give  up  what  I  actually 
know,  Mr.  Roberts,  and  I  know  'Reality'  has  helped  me, 
as  it  has  helped  thousands." 

John  Roberts'  swift  answer  surprised  her.     "I  would 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  357 

not  have  you  give  up  one  atom  of  what  you  know,  Mrs. 
Rogers,  but  only  what  you  do  not  know!  'Reality'  is 
bringing  back  in  a  negative  form  what  the  church 
ought  to  have  been  teaching  as  part  of  its  positive 
faith.  The  rebuke  is  to  the  church,  not  to  you." 

"Do  you  mean  I  could  come  back  to  Old  First  and 
still  hold  the  experience  and  belief  that  'Reality'  has 
taught  me?"  Mrs.  Rogers's  eyes  were  wide  with 
wonder. 

"The  experience — yes ;  the  belief — no." 

"But  how  can  you  separate  'belief  from  'experience'  ? 
Do  they  not  go  together?" 

"Not  always ;  often  they  are  very  wide  apart.  If 
you  will  recognize  this,  your  difficulty  will  disappear. 
You  can  bring  back  to  Old  First  a  new  understanding 
of  'the  faith  which  was  once  for  all  delivered  unto  the 
saints.'  ' 

"O,  Mr.  Roberts,  my  heart  has  been  hungry  for  the 
church  of  my  childhood!  I  want  to  come  back,  but  I 
cannot  sacrifice  the  actual  truth.  Tell  me  what  I 
ought  to  know." 

"It  is  this,  Mrs.  Rogers — to  recognize  the  difference 
between  a  'fact'  and  the  'explanation'  of  it.  When  you 
say  that  'Reality'  has  helped  you  in  many  ways,  I 
believe  you;  I  believe  you  perfectly.  It  is  a  fact  of 
experience  and  you  are  a  competent  witness. 

"For  instance,  when  you  tell  me  you  were  ill,  and,  by 
a  steadfast  attitude  of  mind  which  you  call  'faith,'  you 
overcame  the  illness,  I  believe  you.  Moreover,  that 
experience  has  brought  you  very  near  the  heart  of  God 
— for  God  works  through  mental  processes ;  indeed,  he 
prefers  to  work  that  way.  God  actually  understands 


358      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

psychology,  Mrs.  Rogers" — a  glimmering  smile  was  in 
the  missionary's  eyes. 

"But  when  you  turn  to  me  and  say,  'I  am  well  to-day 
because  my  illness  of  yesterday  was  but  an  illusion,  then 
you  are  denying  one  fact  of  experience  in  order  to  ex- 
plain another.  The  'experience'  itself  brought  you 
near  the  heart  of  God,  but  the  'explanation'  of  it 
separated  you  far  from  him.  You  actually  turned  the 
'fact'  of  God's  blessing  into  an  'explanation'  which 
denied  the  fact  of  God  himself.  You  thought  of  God 
as  Principle,  rather  than  Person,  and  that,  Mrs. 
Rogers,  -is  the  subtle  beginning  of  all  paganism.  If 
you  could  see  the  black  fruit  of  it,  as  I  have  seen  it,  you 
would  know  the  sorrow  it  has  brought  to  earth's  mil- 
lions." John  Roberts's  voice  was  very  gentle. 

Mrs.  Rogers  looked  at  him  intently.  "I  think  I 
see  something,"  she  said;  "at  least  I  partly  see  it." 
Then  she  arose  slowly  and  held  out  her  hand.  "I  must 
not  trespass  longer  upon  your  time.  I  thank  you  sin- 
cerely and  wish  I  might  ask  you  to — to — O,  I  must 
speak  to  Dr.  Locke  before  he  leaves!  Thank  you 
again,  Mr.  Roberts,  and  good  night." 

The  missionary  was  smiling.  "I'll  do  it,  Mrs. 
Rogers,"  he  said — "only  you  must  not  forget  to  pray 
for  yourself!" 

Then  with  an  anxious  look  toward  Jeemy,  John 
Roberts  picked  him  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  to 
the  "Shiners"  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The 
lights  were  turned  off  except  one  near  the  door  where 
Dr.  Janes  had  placed  a  bronze  tablet  in  memory  of 
Tony  Carrari.  It  had  been  unveiled  that  afternoon. 
They  sat  down  in  the  cool  shadow  by  the  window. 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  359 

Jeemy  gazed  dreamily  toward  the  tablet  while  Mr. 
Roberts  told  again  the  wonderful  story  of  Tony's 
sacrifice. 

A  familiar  voice  reached  them  from  the  top  of  the 
stair  and  the  missionary  ceased  speaking. 

"It's  just  inside  the  door,  Elizabeth,  and  I  want  you 
to  see  it  before  we  go  away." 

Then  they  came  into  the  room  together  and  stood 
beside  the  bronze  memorial.  The  light  streamed  down 
upon  them.  As  Elizabeth  finished  reading  the  simple 
inscription,  she  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face. 
Little  Jeemy's  fascinated  gaze  was  upon  her,  and  he 
felt  the  great  kindly  hand  tighten. 

"I'm  so  grateful  that  you  brought  me,  Richard,"  she 
said.  "I  was  not  able  to  be  here  this  afternoon." 

"I  knew  you  would  want  to  see  it,  dear." 

It  was  their  first  moment  together.  He  put  his  arm 
about  her  and  she  leaned  against  him.  The  faint 
breath  of  orange  blossoms  was  filling  the  room. 

"Why  is  it  I  am  not  permitted  to  make  some  sacri- 
fice?" he  asked,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  bronze 
plate.  "I  almost  feel  ashamed  to  stand  here  in  front 
of  Tony's  tablet — my  life  is  so  crowded  with  gladness ! 
I've  yielded  you  up,  dear,  again  and  again,  and  yet  I 
have  you  with  me.  I  was  ready  to  go  out  to  India 
when  the  call  came,  although  I  believed  it  would  bring 
me  suffering  and  anguish — yet  here  I  am,  crowned  with 
perfect  happiness.  I've  been  ready,  and  I  am  ready, 
to  make  any  sacrifice  a  man  can  make,  yet  nothing  but 
joy  attends  me." 

Then  she  lifted  her  face  and  looked  at  him  again. 
"0  Richard,  if  God  has  chosen  joy  for  us — if  he  has 


360      THE  CENTENARY  AT  OLD  FIRST 

called  us  into  green  pastures  and  beside  still  waters, 
shall  we  ask  of  him  a  road  into  the  desert?" 

He  caught  her  to  him.  "My  darling,  it  must  be 
joy!  It  can  be  nothing  else.  With  you  beside  me 
even  that  desert  of  Bikaneer  would  blossom  as  the 
rose!" 

Then  they  heard  her  voice  floating  back  from  the 
hallway — "And,  Richard,  dear,  remember — our  joy  is 
to  be  our  strength." 

Jeemy  still  sat  leaning  against  the  missionary's  arm. 
His  thin  white  fingers  stroked  the  bony  hand  in  subtle 
sympathy,  while  his  eyes  still  gazed  out  through  the 
open  door.  Presently  he  lifted  a  birdlike  glance  into 
Roberts's  face. 

"Mebbe  so  you  ees  lova  da  pritta  lady  too,  eh, 
Meester?" 

A  spasm  passed  over  John  Roberts's  face  and  the 
large,  bony  hand  clenched.  Then,  as  the  little  fellow 
gazed  up  at  him,  the  old  familiar  gentleness  came  back 
again.  He  drew  Jeemy  a  little  closer  and  patted  him 
upon  the  cheek. 

There  was  quiet  for  a  little  space  while  the  child's 
look  became  almost  seraphic.  Then  he  sighed  and 
turned  toward  Tony's  tablet. 

"Mebbe  so  ees  better  eef  som'  peepla  donta  gat 
not'ings,  lika  Tony — eh,  Meester?"  And  John  Roberts 
patted  him  upon  the  cheek  again. 

"Mebbe  so,  Jeemy,"  he  said. 

They  got  up  soon,  for  it  was  time  to  go.  They 
paused  for  a  moment  in  front  of  the  bronze  memorial 
and  Roberts  read  aloud: 


PIETRO  PROPHESIES  361 

ANTONIO  CARRARI 
Killed  in  Action  at  St.  Mihiel 

September   12,   1918 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his 
life  for  his  friends." 

John  Roberts'  stooping  shoulders  were  thrown  back 
and  his  head  was  lifted.  Something  made  Jeemy  look 
at  him  and  draw  in  his  breath.  In  the  face  of  the  mis- 
sionary was  the  joy  of  those  who  suffer — and  conquer. 

As  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Richard  Locke 
and  Elizabeth  were  taking  leave  of  their  friends.  Locke 
saw  him  and  hastened  across  the  room. 

"You  know,  we're  stopping  in  England  for  the 
summer,  and  you'll  reach  Lahore  long  before  we  do. 
Tell  all  our  new  friends  we're  on  the  way." 

"I'll  tell  them,  Richard,"  he  said,  and  looked  into  his 
face. 


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